


The Things She Felt While He Was Gone

by JustiniaKorax



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-07-18 07:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 68,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustiniaKorax/pseuds/JustiniaKorax
Summary: My own version of what happened after the season 2 finale. Damon and Elena grow closer as they struggle to rescue Stefan from Klaus as well as unravel why freak accidents keep endangering Elena. Will Elena find the courage to follow her heart, or will she be too afraid to risk everything for a once in a lifetime love? Much sexiness and profanity. DELENA





	1. A Very High and Annoying Road

Hi there! :) Thanks for checking out my story! My intentions for The Things She Felt are two–fold. One, to write a story where Elena falls in love with and chooses Damon while she's still human. Two, to write D&E into some fun, angsty, sexy scenes. I know that most people like it best when D&E are happily in love – and so do I, of course! – but my muse likes it best when they are tragic and tormented and uncertain of one another, so while I promise that my D&E will eventually get their happily ever after, there will be lots of hiccups and misunderstandings (as well as love triangle angst) along the way. The first few chapters might be kind of slow as I get everything set up, but then then it should (I hope) get spicy. ;) The story starts the morning after the events of 2x22.

Chapter One: A Very High and Annoying Road

Ethereal ribbons of golden yellow sunlight began to creep across the hardwood floors and antique rugs, delicate, elongated fingers of hope stretching, reaching … right into Damon's drink-reddened, sleep-deprived eyes. He squinted, and his mouth curled down irritably.

Which was a strange reaction considering he'd spent last night practically on death's door thanks to an unlucky werewolf bite and hadn't expected to see today. He should be glad that he was here able to greet a new dawn. That was a good thing, right? Right?

He released a weary exhale and jammed a hand through already disheveled black hair. Yeah, right, just fucking great.

Unfortunately, the price to save him had been too high. To acquire a cure, Stefan had been forced to sell his soul in a devil's bargain. And when Damon got a brief glimpse of Elena's face after Katherine dropped the bombshell that Stefan had given himself over to Klaus, he knew she thought the price was too high, as well.

With a curse, he lurched to his feet, causing an empty bottle of bourbon to tumble from his lap and hit the floor with a dull clunk. He crossed first to one window, then to the other, yanking the heavy cloth curtains shut, blocking out the light that was paradoxically darkening his mood.

When he turned around, Elena was standing uncertainly in the entryway area, which proved how off he was that he hadn't even heard her enter the house.

Every cell in his body began humming with awareness, the same way it always did when he was anywhere near her. That awareness was quickly muted by worry. He hadn't expected to see her again so soon.

Not that he was complaining. She was so fucking gorgeous it hurt to look at her. Her long, straight hair glowed softly in the sunlight that was pouring in through the window above the front door. She wore only a purple tank, some faded blue jeans, and a pair of scuffed sneakers, and yet he couldn't prevent himself from noticing the exquisite curves and lines of her body. She could be wearing a trash bag and he'd still notice those.

And her eyes. Her beautiful, dark, haunting eyes were filled with so much sadness he was instantly moving toward her without a conscious directive to his feet.

He came to a stop right at the edge of the stairs leading up to the raised entryway, close enough that her subtle, lavender-infused scent teased his nostrils. "What're you doing here? Did something happen? Are you alright?"

She held up her cell phone. "Stefan hasn't responded to any of my calls or texts."

"You heard what Katherine said." He didn't mean for his words to come out so clipped and short, but he couldn't help it. "He's gone."

"No, I refuse to believe that. We're going to get him back."

"I admire your conviction, I do, but I'm a little unclear on exactly how we're supposed to do that. My brother and Klaus could be anywhere by now."

"I know." Her eyes drifted to the empty liquor bottle on the floor. "That's why I need you to sober up so you can help me. Bonnie's on her way. She's going to do a locator spell."

"Oh." He scowled thoughtfully. That was actually a good idea. An idea he would've come up with on his own eventually, of course.

"Jeremy almost died last night."

She spoke softly, but her words jerked his gaze fully to hers. "But he didn't? He's okay?"

She shrugged. "Apparently, Caroline's mom shot him in the heart, but Bonnie was able to save him. Barely."

Her words triggered a flashback from last night, most of which was so hazy and dream-like in his memory that he still had difficulty deciphering what had really happened and what was the product of his werewolf-venom deluded mind.

A flash of metal as the barrel of a gun was aimed directly at his heart.

Ghosting away.

The percussive shock of gunfire in his wake.

Sherriff Forbes had been trying to shoot him. Fuck, another thing that hurt Elena that was all his fault.

As he was trying to think of something comforting to say, her face crumpled. "Do you think I'm cursed? That I'm doomed to lose everyone I ever love?"

"No." He made a vehement gesture of denial. "No, I won't let that happen. Jeremy didn't die, you didn't become a vampire, and we're not going to lose Stefan. Everything's going to be alright. I'll make it alright."

She sniffed and forced a wobbly smile. "So that means you'll help me?"

"I'll do whatever it is you need me to do."

"Thank you." She rechecked her phone which still hadn't magically lit up to signal an incoming text or call from Stefan. "I'm going to go find something that Bonnie can use for her spell."

Turning, she took maybe two steps away before she stopped and whirled back. She rushed down the stairs and threw her arms around him, holding on tightly and pressing her face into his shoulder.

"I'm really glad you didn't die," she murmured. Her voice was mostly muffled by his black shirt.

Several sarcastic responses came to mind, but in the end, he simply put his arms around her and hugged her back, loving her for giving him a glimmer of hope, hating himself for wanting her even in this moment, thinking it would've been better for everyone if he had died. Death would've been a mercy for someone like him, and at least then Elena and Stefan would still be together and happy.

She released him and, with a sad smile, went upstairs, heading for Stefan's room.

And that was how, a short while later, he ended up with a witch in his library preparing to cast a spell. Bonnie lit several candles and spread a map on the floor in front of the fire place. Apparently, it was also necessary for her to burn several bundles of stinky herbs. He didn't know if they were supposed to be some kind of magical incense or what, but the smoke was starting to give him a headache.

When Bonnie seemed mostly done getting set up, Elena handed her one of Stefan's leather journals. "Will this work?"

Bonnie loosened the string tied around it and flipped through the pages, giving them only a cursory scan. "I think so."

Damon quipped, "While I don't recommend reading it – incredibly dense and dull – that is the essence of Stefan's personality, so you should have plenty of whatever it is your witchy mojo needs to find him."

Elena narrowed her eyes at him.

He smiled back blandly.

Bonnie said tartly, "Well, my witchy mojo is also going to need your blood."

"Why do you need my blood?" His tone was suspicious.

"To find Stefan, I need his blood – or the blood of someone who's related to him."

He squatted. "Gotta knife?"

She passed him a folding knife. He pressed the sharpened point against the middle of his palm. "Where should I … ?"

Bonnie made a gesture that encompassed the whole map, implying that anywhere was good.

Gritting his teeth, he pierced his skin and drew down. Drops of scarlet blood rained onto the map.

"That's enough!" Bonnie told him.

He removed the blade from his palm. It healed in seconds. All that remained was a smear of blood which he kind of wanted to lick off, because hey, blood was blood, but he was fairly confident that would completely freak Elena out so he refrained and surreptitiously wiped it off on his jeans instead.

Kneeling in front of the map, Bonnie placed Stefan's journal off to the side and took a cross-legged position. She started to chant. Power grew. It swirled around the room, prickled across his skin like the feet of a thousand ants, and made him shift his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Had he ever mentioned how much he disliked magic?

The drops of blood animated, congregated together, flowed towards the southern portion of the map. They stopped over ….

"That's weird," Bonnie muttered.

"What is?" Elena asked anxiously.

"According to this locator spell, they're still here. In Mystic Falls."

"Maybe you did it wrong," Damon suggested.

Bonnie looked less than appreciative of his perfectly helpful suggestion. "No, the spell worked." She studied the map for another moment as though willing it to yield up a different conclusion, then declared, "Hold on, I'm going to try something else."

She looked around for Stefan's journal, found it, and picked it up. Gripping the journal tightly with both hands, she squeezed her eyes shut and moved her lips silently, whispering words of magic. This time, Power completely filled the room, swelled and burst around Damon like a flood of water, setting his teeth on edge and raising every hair on his body.

Just when he was starting to think that he couldn't stand even one more second of being in the library, Bonnie ceased whispering. Her eyes flew open. Damon and Elena both leaned toward her, breaths caught in their throats, waiting for her to tell them what had just happened.

When Bonnie was slow to speak, Elena demanded, "Did you see something? Did you see Stefan?"

"Yes." The word came out as a hoarse croak. The witch made a throat-clearing sound. "Yes," she said more strongly, "the spell let me see through his eyes. I recognize where they are. They're at Pastor Young's house."

"Who the hell is Pastor Young?" Damon asked impatiently.

"He's an old family friend, and his farm is about thirty minutes outside of town." Elena looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "We know where he is!" She jumped to her feet. "Come on."

Bonnie gave her an apologetic look. "I'd go, but I really think I should stay with Jeremy. He's still pretty shaken by what happened."

Elena smiled at her friend. "Of course you should stay with Jeremy. He needs you." She redirected her attention to Damon. "But Stefan needs us. Let's go."

She raced for the door, hair streaming out behind her like dark silk.

He scowled, because it was no doubt pointless to even hope for the possibility of talking her out of going. Just as he started after her, he heard, "Damon, wait." Bonnie's voice was low, too low for Elena to hear.

He looked back inquisitively.

A trickle of blood had begun to drip from one nostril, oozing down to stain Bonnie's upper lip red. "Stefan's not alone. Death is with him."

Her words contained the ominous ring of prophecy and sent ice-cold, twitchy fingers skittering down his spine. He nodded once to indicate that he understood and to thank her for the warning.

As he walked away, she whispered, "Be careful."

..............................................

He pulled down a narrow driveway in the rural outskirts of Mystic Falls, Elena next to him on the passenger's side. He'd done his utmost to convince her to stay behind – Bonnie's last words still gave him the willies – but that went over about as well as he'd expected it to – which is to say, it didn't. He couldn't have budged her with a sledgehammer. And he'd been very tempted to use one.

"Wait in the car," he ordered sternly, putting the car in park directly in front of an old, one story farm house. Maybe this time she would listen to him.

"No."

Guess not. "Look, I don't know how you talked me into letting you get this far, but there's no way in hell I'm letting you go into that house. It's too dangerous."

Her chin thrust out belligerently. "You can't stop me."

He inclined his head in her direction. "Wanna bet?"

"Don't you dare try to compel me!" she snapped, quickly looking in the other direction.

His eyes flew to the tanned, bare skin just above the uppermost swell of her breasts where Stefan's silver locket used to hang until Katherine stole it. He might've also used the moment to glance directly at the whole swell of her breasts. But only for a second. Then, his gaze darted back to her face. "Tsk, tsk, forgetting to take vervain in a town full of vampires. Not too bright."

"I'm serious, Damon. Don't."

He sighed and pretended to flick a speck of dirt off the sleeve of his black leather jacket. "I'm not going to compel you, Elena. What I am going to do is tie your ass to that seat with the spare rope I have in my trunk."

She glared at him sullenly. "It's really creepy that you keep spare rope in your car."

"I know. And right now, it's also really convenient." His features hardened, and he inserted some steel into his tone. "Don't test me, because I will do it. You're not going in. End of discussion."

"Damon, please, what if he's in there? What if he needs me?"

"What if Klaus is in there?" he countered.

"So?"

"So, Klaus thinks you're dead. Now I don't know if he'll care one way or the other about your miraculous resurrection, but I'd rather not find out when he instantly kills you. So unless you're just completely hell-bent on dying, stay in the car!"

As he started to climb out, she huffed, "Do you even have a plan?"

He replied testily, "Of course I have a plan." He didn't have a plan.

A skeptical eyebrow climbed her forehead.

"Just stay in the damn car!" he growled.

She nodded unhappily but at least appeared willing to stay put.

He slammed the door shut and headed for the farmhouse.

After striding up the porch steps, he tried the front door. Unlocked. He tested the doorway by swinging a boot over the threshold. It passed through with zero resistance. No need to be invited in. Whoever owned the house was dead. Something he'd known already because the scent of freshly-spilled blood saturated the afternoon air, tangy and delicious.

He flicked on the kitchen lights, illuminating a scene worthy of being in the goriest horror movie. Two bodies lay sprawled on the linoleum floor. Headless bodies, so there was also a lot of blood, huge pools on the floor as well as Jackson Pollock-esque spray patterns all over the walls and appliances. He entered and knelt to examine one of the heads. It belonged to an older male. There was so much blood in the hair, he couldn't guess at its original color. Now it was just a dark, tacky red.

When he stood and nudged the other head with his toe, so it rolled face up, he discovered a young girl with a pretty, round face and long black hair. She looked roughly the same age as Elena.

"Goddamn it, Stefan," he cursed angrily. This was literally the exact scenario he'd been praying he wouldn't find. Obviously, the possibility that Stefan might've gone off the rails had occurred to Damon, but he'd really been hoping that that wasn't the case. Unfortunately, all the classic signs of a Ripper binge were present. Only thing to do was burn the place down and hide the evidence.

He took one last look around. The blood was still wet, only beginning to thicken and congeal. Since he couldn't hear or sense anyone else in the vicinity, they must have just missed Stefan and Klaus.

Boards creaked on the porch. He twisted to see Elena, one hand on her stomach, the other over her mouth. Shit. "Get back in the car."

"Did Stefan - " Her voice broke and she had to start over. "Did Stefan do this?"

"Out. Now." Ice blue eyes flashed and jaw muscles clenched as he marched over to her.

"Did he?"

He grabbed her by the elbow. "Let's go."

"No!"

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp, but only because he let her. He didn't want to bruise her. As she stormed off the porch, he followed more sedately.

She spun unexpectedly to face him. "Tell me the truth! Did Stefan do that?"

"Maybe," he hedged.

Such a simple word, just two little syllables, but he felt like the world's biggest asshole when he saw the devastation it caused her. He rushed on, "But maybe not. We don't know everything yet."

She pressed both hands to her stomach like she was going to be sick. "I know them. Pastor Young - he came over for Sunday dinners sometimes. I used to baby-sit his daughter. Her name is April. She's the same age as Jeremy."

Suddenly, Elena fell to her knees and vomited. Quick as a wink, Damon was by her side, gathering up the hair that framed her face and holding it back.

"Breathe, Elena," he instructed gently in between the heaves that wracked her body. "Deep breaths."

Eventually, the waves of nausea passed and her body stilled. She sat up and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

"Better?" he asked.

When she nodded, he helped her get slowly to her feet.

She clutched his arm. "I want to go back to the car."

That was the smartest thing she'd said since they'd gotten here. He led her back and helped her get situated and comfortable. Then he went to the trunk and pulled out a can of gasoline and a matchbook. Would Elena find it creepy that he also carried around spare gasoline just in case he needed to set something on fire? Of course she would, and she'd probably have some smart-ass thing to say about it. The thought brought a smile to his face.

He made a quick sweep of the house and nearby grounds, searching for any clues left behind. Doubtful there were any, but it was possible he could get lucky.

He didn't.

His next move was to douse the front porch with gasoline, which he did, then remove himself to a safe distance. From there, he lit a match and tossed it. He hung back just long enough to make sure the fire was going to catch and take the rest of the house with it. Once long columns of smoke climbed high into the sky, he returned to the car.

As they drove away, Elena asked, "Can I stay at your place tonight? I just feel … safer when I'm there."

He gave her a thin-lipped smile. "Of course."

"Why would Stefan kill Pastor Young and April?" She sounded so lost, so distressed.

Damon shrugged. He didn't really want to talk about this. The answer was only going to hurt her more.

"We'd been practicing. A little blood every day. He was getting better. He was learning control. Why would he do that?"

A spurt of irrational jealousy flared through him as he envisioned Stefan bent over Elena, tasting her blood as she willingly offered it to him. "Well, for starters, I highly doubt that Klaus is interested in hanging out with the repressed, neutered puppy-dog version of Stefan."

"What do you mean?"

He applied the brakes as they approached a red light. "I mean that Klaus probably forced Stefan to turn off his humanity."

She stayed silent for a moment, then asked, "You've seen this before, haven't you? The – the bodies like that."

The light turned green. He nodded curtly and hit the gas, resuming speed.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a horn blared somewhere off to their right.

Elena shrieked, "Damon!" as they simultaneously spotted a huge truck barreling down on them with no respect for the red light on its end. If it hit them, it would smash into the passenger's side. Directly into Elena.

It was only thanks to his enhanced reflexes that he had time to do anything. He slammed his foot on the gas, and the Camaro jumped forward like a horse that'd just been spurred.

They almost made it clear. They were just the tiniest bit too slow. The truck clipped their rear bumper and sent them spinning. Elena screamed. He let up on the gas pedal and steered them until all wheels had traction again and he could start slowing the car. They skidded through a full 180 degrees before he brought them to a stop in the middle of the road, now facing the wrong way. Miraculously, no one else was coming in either direction, so at least they weren't struck again by oncoming traffic.

He looked over at Elena. "You okay?"

She was no longer screaming. Her eyes were wide and fixed straight ahead, heart beating rapidly like a frightened rabbit's. Judging from the strangled sound of her breathing, she was about to hyperventilate. Well, why wouldn't she? Today, she'd witnessed a brutal murder scene - and the murderer was her boyfriend - and now she'd just been in a near-fatal car accident, a trigger for the traumatic night her parents died going off Wickery Bridge.

He grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his assessing gaze. "Are you okay?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Wait here."

From the dazed look on her face, he didn't think there'd be any issue this time that she'd do as he said.

He got out and inspected the rear of his car for damage. A tail light was busted and crunched in. Could've been worse. But it shouldn't have happened at all.

His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl as he considered how close Elena had come to being injured or worse. Meanwhile, the other driver had already exited his truck and was heading in their direction with a panicky look.

Damon appeared in his path with a whoosh, beyond pissed off and a heartbeat away from ripping this idiot apart until it was raining unidentifiable body parts. The only thing restraining him at all was the desire to shield Elena from any further bloodshed. It wouldn't stop him, though.

"Okay, here's the situation," Damon said, "I was in a pretty shitty mood to begin with, and now you've gone and dented my car and scared my girl." Not your girl, an obnoxious voice in his mind corrected, not your anything. "So I'm gonna need you to give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you in the next ten seconds."

Veins pulsed hotly, spider webbing out from his eyes as the last vestiges of his self-control started to erode. He probably wasn't going to make it a full ten seconds.

The driver noticed and gasped out hurriedly, "Oh god, is everyone okay? I didn't mean to – my truck, I couldn't get it to stop! I swear, I tried! What's wrong with your face?"

Damon blinked, reasserting control over his vampire aspect, and grabbed the man's shoulders, immobilizing him so he could be compelled. "Tell me exactly what happened. Calmly."

In a dazed monotone, the man recited, "The light turned red and I tried to stop. I hit the brakes, but nothing happened. I swear I tried to hit the brakes, but they weren't working. Please believe me!"

Damon smiled insincerely and patted the man's cheek. "Congratulations, it's your lucky day. I do believe you. I just have one more question. Do you work for Klaus?"

"Who?"

"You know – accent … pure evil … super dramatic … ?"

He could've spent the rest of the day listing all of Klaus's negative qualities, but the driver just gave him a blank look and shook his head.

"Never mind. I predict your brakes will miraculously start working again. Go home. Forget this ever happened."

The man turned and staggered back in the direction of his truck.

Damon strode back to the Camaro at a regular, human pace. When he got in, Elena looked over. "What happened? What did he say?"

"That he lost control. Apparently, his brakes stopped working." Damon frowned thoughtfully.

"We got so lucky." She shivered. "Good thing you were driving."

"Yeah," he said distantly, still lost in thought.

Nothing about this made any sense. It was too coincidental that some huge, jacked-up truck had malfunctioned and almost T-boned them right when they trying to track down Stefan. Call it a hunch, but this had the unpleasant stench of magic all over it.

He was inclined to suspect Klaus, who might not be too pleased that they were tracking Stefan, but if the Original vampire was going to kill them, he'd gleefully eviscerate them in person. He wouldn't set up an elaborate scheme to make their deaths look like some freak accident.

But if not Klaus, then who?

Of course, it was possible that Damon was being overly paranoid and looking too deeply into what was nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. His eyes narrowed. But he probably wasn't.

While starting the car back up, he caught a glimpse of Elena in his periphery. She was so, so pale and sitting with her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. The sound of her pounding heart beat against his eardrums.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he pressed.

"I'm fine," she said. He didn't believe her, and his expression reflected that. "Really," she insisted, forcing her hands down into her lap.

"If something starts to hurt or if you feel sore later on …." He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, baring the underside of his pale wrist. "All you have to do is ask."

"No!" She turned away hastily, an evasive moment, and he knew that the memory of when he forced his blood down her throat in a reckless attempt to save her life hung in the air between them like an awkward, unresolved ghost.

But then, she caught herself and sent him a genuinely kind look, the tension all but gone. "I mean, no thank you. I was just scared, that's all."

A long silence ensued. Finally, he said, "Alright, then, you good to go?"

She nodded. "Yes, let's get out of here."

He waited another minute until the truck that hit them had disappeared down the road. Then he got the Camaro turned around so they were once more facing the right way and headed home.

Once they were safely back at the Salvatore boarding house, Elena settled on one of the red couches in the living room. Damon slipped out of his jacket and poured himself a crystal whiskey glass full of bourbon, downed it in one swallow, and poured himself another. Not as good as blood, but it would do for now.

Without asking, he poured her a glass, too. Surprisingly, she accepted it and took a generous gulp. She made a face afterwards where her nose scrunched up and her lips puckered in distaste. It was easily one of the cutest things he'd ever seen in his very long life.

He extended the decanter. "More?"

She nodded gratefully.

He refilled her drink and sat down beside her, still holding the decanter. "I don't want you to worry. It'll be okay. Stefan's come back from worse than this." He neglected to add that it had taken years, sometimes decades, before his brother was his old insufferable, mopey self again.

"Yeah," Elena replied, "but he wasn't under Klaus's control. How are we going to free him without Klaus killing us in the process?"

"I'll think of something."

She stared down into her almost empty glass of bourbon, then set it down and raised her lovely face to him. A whole gamut of emotions blazed in her darkly mesmerizing eyes: pain, hope, grief, desperation. "Maybe it wasn't Stefan. Maybe Klaus is the one who killed Pastor Young and April, and he just wanted us to think it was Stefan."

When he stayed silent, not willing to burst her feeble bubble of hope, she added defensively, "There's a chance, right?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Nope. Not even a tiny one. He was all too familiar with the carnage left in Stefan's wake. The Ripper was definitely back. Which meant that not only would he and Elena have to fight Klaus to get Stefan back, they'd have to fight Stefan to get Stefan back. Because if Damon knew anything at all, it was that his brother was not going to willingly come back and subject himself to the kind of crippling guilt he'd feel for hurting Elena, especially not when she'd be looking at him with such woeful eyes. No, Stefan would fight dirty and viciously to avoid that kind of pain. Damon didn't think Elena quite grasped the magnitude of what they were up against yet.

"I'm not giving up on him." She looked like she was about to cry. "Promise that you won't, either. Promise that you'll help me."

Tears welled in her dark eyes, and he would've done anything – anything - in that moment to keep those tears from succumbing to gravity. God, if he knew where Stefan was right now, he'd gladly walk barefoot over hot coals or crawl on his belly over broken glass or swim through an ocean of boiling acid the entire way just to stop this girl from hurting for even one more second.

A fucking lump clogged his throat. He swallowed it in order to speak. "Elena, I will do whatever I have to to bring my brother home to you. I promise."

She sniffled. "I'm so glad you're here." She laid her head on his shoulder and placed a dainty, warm hand on his thigh. "Thank you for everything. For being my friend."

He smiled briefly in response, even though she couldn't see it, and laid his cheek on the top of her head. Her words had relaxed the knot of dark, painful emotions that lived inside him. In less than twenty four hours, he'd gone from unforgiven to friend.

He'd even gotten a kiss from her. Granted, he'd been pretty much almost dead, so he hadn't been able to properly enjoy it, and it'd only been a small, sweaty – on his part, not hers – and chaste kiss, but he could still remember how velvety-soft her lips had felt, like pink rose petals, so cool against his fevered flesh. She had tasted like absolution.

"You got it," he murmured. "We'll get him back."

Minutes later, her breathing evened out as sleep claimed her. Even though the sun still hung stubbornly just above the horizon, he wasn't surprised, not after everything she'd been through, not just today but in the last several days. She had every right to be exhausted.

He knew he needed to take her upstairs and tuck her into his brother's bed, but he selfishly let himself linger, enjoying the sensation of her body against his. She was all soft curves and warm skin.

He turned his face so that his nose pressed into her dark, silky hair. She smelled clean and feminine, like a sunny meadow filled with blooming lavender. He inhaled deeply, filled his lungs with her scent, filled his entire being with a longing that was as powerful as it was hopeless.

He wanted her. More than anything. But she would never be his. She belonged to someone else. His brother. She said their love was epic.

And now in some sort of cruel, perverse, karmic twist of fate, she was expecting him to help reunite her with said epic love.

And he would. He would make her world right again if it killed him. He'd fucked up when he impulsively fed her his blood against her will. He'd fucked up when he'd been careless enough to get bit by Tyler Lockwood of all fucking people, thus forcing Stefan to make a deal with Klaus for a cure. He'd fucked up when he'd escaped from the cell they'd locked him in and let his venom-induced delusions put Elena's and Jeremy's lives in jeopardy.

But he would fix all of it by dragging his brother home, willingly or not. Klaus didn't get to win, not this time. Elena deserved to be happy, even if that happiness was found with Stefan and not him.

Far sooner than he wanted to, he set aside his bourbon and scooped her up in his arms. She weighed almost nothing and felt so fragile. So human.

Releasing a sleepy sigh, she cuddled against his chest like an adorable, content kitten. He carefully made his way upstairs and set her down gently on Stefan's bed. To keep her from getting cold while she slept, he grabbed the blanket folded at the foot of the bed and spread it over her, tucking it around her prone form. When he tenderly swept aside a few wispy strands of hair floating about her temple, she stirred, eyes fluttering open.

"Stefan?" she whispered softly.

He pulled his hand away. "Just me," he whispered back.

A smile spread across her face, and she breathed out, "Damon." Then her eyes slid shut and she lapsed into a peaceful repose.

He gave her one last soft caress, a guilty caress, knuckles brushing just the slightest bit down her cheek. Putting aside the fact that she was already off-limits because she was his brother's girl, he still had no right to touch her. Not after all the things he'd done to hurt her.

But … he was weak like that. She made him weak. Made him want things he couldn't have. Things he didn't deserve.

He turned and walked away.

As he was closing the door to Stefan's room, he couldn't resist glancing back one more time at the girl he loved. She looked so small. Stefan's bed practically swallowed her up. And so young. A perfect vision of innocence and angelic sweetness that pulled on his heart in ways it shouldn't.

Definitely not for someone like him.

That's why he had to get Stefan home as soon as possible, hopeless as that mission seemed.

"Goddamn you, Stefan," he swore under his breath, "I didn't want to be saved."

He closed the door and went downstairs.


	2. Boom - Rush of Memories, Rush of Guilt

Chapter Two: Boom – Rush of Memories, Rush of Guilt

He knocked on Elena's front door. When it swung open, Alaric stood on the other side.

"Ric," Damon acknowledged with mild surprise.

"Damon," Ric replied.

Damon hadn't seen his friend since he'd tried to goad Ric into killing him before the werewolf poison could. That was shortly after Jenna's funeral. If Damon were a better friend, he'd have called to see how Ric was doing.

But he wasn't a better friend. He wasn't even a good one.

As Elena came flying down the stairs, Ric tossed over his shoulder, "Should I let him in?"

"Yes, please, I called him!" she sang out as she ran past into the kitchen.

Ric made a very noncommittal 'hmph' noise.

"Hilarious," Damon drawled, entering and forcing Ric to move aside. "Any idea what we're doing here?"

"All I know is it's way too damn early in the morning for whatever it is."

As Ric closed the door, Damon took the opportunity to study his friend. Grief had carved new grooves around Alaric's eyes, while a few days worth of bristle shadowed his jaw and upper lip.

"You look like hell," Damon observed.

Ric rubbed a hand down his face. "Have you ever considered a career in diplomacy?"

"Sure, it was a toss-up between that and high school history teacher."

A short laugh escaped Ric. "You teaching children anything is a horrifying thought."

Damon cocked his head, not the least bit insulted. "Everything okay?"

Ric approximated a smile. "Yeah. Let's go see what's so important it couldn't wait until a decent hour."

He followed his buddy into the kitchen where Elena had already started to brew coffee. The automatic coffeemaker emitted various gurgling sounds as she moved efficiently around the kitchen. Though it was still early in the morning, she gave the impression that she'd been up for awhile.

"Anyone else want some?" she inquired, opening an overhead cabinet.

Damon shook his head.

"Most emphatically yes," Ric said.

Whisking two coffee mugs, a blue one and a white one, out of the cabinet, she set them down on the counter. Even in this, such a mundane task, Damon was helplessly aware of every single thing about her: the perfect fall of her dark hair swishing with every graceful movement. The way she pressed her luscious lips together just the slightest bit in concentration as she carefully poured steaming liquid into the mugs. How her scent, light and floral, pierced through even the potent smell of fresh coffee.

Turning smoothly, she handed Ric the blue mug. "Do you take cream or sugar?"

He shook his head. "Black, thanks." He took a tentative sip.

"Good, cause we don't have any." She smiled and raised her cup to seductively sweet lips.

Right about then, Damon noticed Ric staring pointedly at him over the rim of his blue mug.

There was a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter. Damon selected a ripe, red apple and buffed it on his sleeve as he fired back with a look that said What?

Ric's eyebrows shot up in a manner that said I think you know what.

"I know where Stefan is. Or at least, where we need to go to look for him."

This revelation instantly shifted Damon's focus back to Elena.

"We?" Ric asked.

She glanced down, lashes shielding her suddenly uncertain gaze. "Yeah, I was hoping that maybe you'd both be willing to come with me."

When Ric deliberately delayed responding by taking another slow-as-molasses sip of coffee, Damon crunched loudly into his apple. "Where?"

"Remember how Bonnie did that spell that let her see through Stefan's eyes?" He did. "Well, apparently, the spell also lets her hear what's going on around him. The last couple of days, Klaus has had Stefan rounding up all the werewolves they can find."

She unfolded a map on the center kitchen island. Right in the middle was an area she'd previously circled with black sharpie.

Ric asked, "What the hell does Klaus want with more werewolves? I thought he only needed one to break his curse?"

"He's making more," Damon intuited. "Guess the most wonderful thing about hybrids isn't that he's the only one." He took another noisy bite of apple.

Ric made a thoughtful sound. "That's not good, right?"

"On a scale of one to ten, it's a 'we're royally fucked'."

"But not if we get there first," Elena countered. "When Bonnie did her spell, Klaus and Stefan were talking in a bar. She got a look at a menu, and it said 'Bradley's Bar and Grill'. We looked it up, and the nearest bar with that name is on the Tennessee border." She tapped the area circled in black with a tapered, elegant finger. "Caroline got Tyler to confirm that a pack of werewolves is known to live in the area. We can go there, grab Stefan, and get out before Klaus turns the werewolves into hybrids. The next full moon is weeks away, so you'll be safe."

Damon winced. "I don't think safe is the word I would use. Insane, maybe, or suicidal. You're seriously expecting us to just search an entire town on the off-chance that Stefan and Klaus might be there and we might run into them?"

"We have to try. We don't have time to wait for a better lead. Every second that Stefan's out there, it'll be that much harder to get him back! You know I'm right!" Elena exclaimed. She looked over at Ric, seeking his support.

Ric shook his head. "Sorry, I'm with Damon on this. Seems like a fool's errand."

Those beseeching doe eyes sought out Damon once more. Just like that, his will to resist evaporated. He sighed. "But you're going to go there anyway, aren't you? Even if you have to do it alone. Even though it's a really terrible idea."

"Yes."

Ric frowned down into his coffee. "Then I guess that makes us all fools. At least wait and let me gather my arsenal. I've been working on some upgrades. They won't take out an Original, but they might slow one down long enough for us to not all die."

Elena looked at him gratefully. "That'd be great, thank you."

"Please tell me you're planning to ask Bonnie to come along?" Ric scratched the side of his jaw. "A witch in our corner can only improve our odds."

Elena began gathering up the map. "She has school."

Damon reached across the island counter and plunked his half-eaten apple down right in the center, foiling her folding efforts. When she looked up in exasperation, he asked, "Isn't that true for you, too?"

"I can't think about school right now."

Lifting the apple, he whisked the map out of her grasp and made one last attempt to dissuade her. "Let me and Ric check it out."

If he'd been hoping that she'd suddenly see reason, she quickly disabused him of that notion, clenching her hands into tight little fists at her sides. "I'm not having this fight with you again. I'm going with you, and I'm going to be involved every step of the way."

"Yeah, right, good luck with that," Ric interjected.

Damon's mouth opened, but he never got a chance to speak. Elena cut him off. "You don't need to worry. I've been training. I can take care of myself."

"You've been training?" Damon echoed mockingly. "What does that mean?"

"Ric's teaching me how to fight."

He slanted a dark look Ric's way. "Oh, is that right?"

Ric shrugged. "She asked. Didn't seem like a bad idea."

Faster than the human eye could follow, Damon flashed toward Elena. His unexpected proximity caused her breath to hitch, and when he advanced even closer, crowding her back against the counter, he heard her heart rate spike.

In a low, vehement voice, he said, "You can waste every day for the rest of your life training, and a vampire will still end you like that." He snapped his fingers.

As hurt flashed across her features, he conceded, "But it's not the worst idea in the world. You should still stay here."

With a look that clearly communicated her unshakable resolve, she snatched the map back from him. She spun on her heel and created some distance between them. As she walked out of the kitchen, she addressed Ric. "Call me when your arsenal's ready."

Ric smiled in begrudging admiration. "Guess we're going to Tennessee."

Damon scowled, seriously contemplating the pros and cons of hog-tying her and leaving her behind. "Guess so." Still watching Elena retreat from the kitchen, he added, "Better ask Elena if you can borrow her family's ring. I hear it comes in handy in case you're stupid enough to try and take on a vampire."

Alaric's SUV barreled its way along a darkened highway winding through the rugged foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. The world outside blurred by in inky swathes of heavily forested countryside dotted here and there with the occasional odd building or house.

Elena slept in the back seat. Light and darkness played across her features every time a car passed them going in the opposite direction.

Ric looked over at Damon who was lounging languidly in the passenger's seat like a sleek, insolent panther. "It's almost midnight and we're still a couple hours away. We can stop or push on through. Your call."

Damon stole another glance at Elena in the rearview mirror. "Let's go a little farther. Then we can find a place for the night. Get some comfortable rest."

Ric raised his eyebrows in the same semi-inquisitive - semi-judgmental manner he had earlier that day in Elena's kitchen.

"What?" Damon snapped.

"It's awfully nice of you to be so considerate of your brother's girlfriend."

Damon gave him a surly look.

Ric sighed. "I'm only saying this because Elena is severely lacking in parental units right now, but I don't want you to forget that she's just a girl. She's not like the women you usually..." He trailed off awkwardly and made a vague gesture with one hand, clearly at a loss to come up with a descriptor that properly encompassed what Damon usually did to women.

Damon, however, understood perfectly. "You think I don't know that?"

His friend's mouth flattened into an unhappy line. "I know you care about her, Damon, but you're the last thing that poor girl needs messing up her life right now. Or ever."

Even though he agreed, it still sucked to hear it out loud from his supposed best friend. Make that his only friend. He retorted coldly, "It's not an issue, Ric. In case you haven't noticed, we're on the way to rescue my dumbass martyr of a brother."

"Yeah, well, it's not like he's any better. Why can't she just date an ordinary high school boy?"

Damon's lips twisted ruefully. "Because she's not an ordinary girl."

"Whatever, just please don't do anything that'll require me having to kick your ass."

Damon scoffed. "Been there, done that, and we both know how it ended – with you dead."

Ric's hand tensed on the wheel. "This isn't a joke."

"Does it sound like I'm joking?"

"Honestly, with you, it's really hard to tell sometimes."

"She's safe with me."

"I hope so, cause I'd hate to have a reason to use one of my brand-new weapons that I've been dying to try out on you."

Damon laughed.

After a pause, Ric said quietly, "I'm glad you're still here, buddy."

Damon smiled, yet he couldn't help remembering all the people who weren't still here that should be. Suddenly, he experienced a rush of gratitude that his friend was here with him despite his own losses. He should probably say something. "Look, Ric, about Jenna …."

"I know," Ric said quickly.

"If you ever need to talk …."

Now it was Ric's turn to laugh. "Don't worry, I'll call someone else."

"Right, but if you ever need to distract yourself with copious amounts of alcohol and other unhealthy coping mechanisms…."

"I'll call you. Got it."

"See? That's why I like you. You get me."

Ric gave him an exceedingly wry look. "You mean I get that you're a dick." There was no rancor in his voice, only friendly affection. "Wanna take this next exit? The sign says there's a hotel."

Damon agreed and they pulled off. Once at the hotel, they arranged for two rooms. He gave Elena a few minutes to settle into hers before checking in on her one last time for the night.

When he rapped briskly, her demure answer filtered through the door to his ears. "Come in."

He possessed an extra key card to her room which he used to enter. While crossing the threshold, his phone buzzed. An incoming text from Andie lit up the screen.

I hope you haven't forgotten our lunch date tomorrow :)

He totally had. Can't. Reschedule.

As he slipped his phone into his pocket, it buzzed again three times in quick succession, but he ignored it, looking for Elena instead. Two double beds dominated the space in the small room. She sat on the one closest to the door, gazing forlornly at her phone, a devastatingly beautiful, heartbroken angel. Her sorrow resonated in him, hollowed out his insides.

He approached and sat down beside her. Quickly, she blanked her screen, but not before he observed that she'd been looking at a picture of her wrapped in Stefan's arms, both of them wearing huge matching smiles.

"Cute picture," he remarked.

"Thanks." There was a chintzy nightstand between the two beds, and she set her phone on that. "So, um, where's Ric?"

"Next door."

"You're staying with him?"

His lips quirked. "Unless I get a better offer."

She rolled her eyes. "If you don't like the sleeping arrangements, I'm sure the lady who checked us in would be more than happy to let you share hers."

He grimaced comically. "You saw that?"

"Uh, yeah, I saw that. She might as well've written her name and number on a brick and thrown it at your head."

"Well, I for one am glad she didn't. Sounds painful."

Amusement lifted the corners of her mouth. "To be fair, I think she also tried hitting on Ric. She must have a thing for old guys."

He looked at her askance. "You have a thing for old guys."

She inhaled like she was going to respond, but instead warm brown eyes locked with ice blue ones, grew huge and round, and she exhaled a shaky breath without uttering a word. Everything about her froze except for her quickening heartbeat and those entrancing eyes that continued to expand, fathomless pools of rich melted chocolate.

Time ceased to mean anything; they might have stared at each other for an hour or a minute. There was no way to tell as the room shrank down until nothing else existed but her: her scent, her warmth, her irresistible loveliness.

He permitted just a modicum of the desire he felt for her to flicker across his face. Twin blossoms of pink heat appeared on her cheeks. There came to him on the air the sweetness of lavender now blended with just the faintest spice of feminine arousal.

Need gripped him in its urgent clutches, made his dick twitch and start to swell, pressing against the front of his increasingly too-tight jeans.

Then, somewhere down the hall, a door slammed, shattering the private, intense moment that held them spellbound. Elena jolted and darted her eyes away.

"Just one," she insisted weakly, a flush creeping over her cheeks.

His fingers clenched around empty air instead of the flesh he yearned to touch. It was time to go. "I just came by to make sure you were all set for tonight?"

Her silence spoke more loudly and damningly than any words she might've used.

Really? She was just going to ignore him? Guess that meant they were back to their infuriating, all-too-familiar dance, the one where they'd have a moment, and afterwards she'd pretend like nothing at all had happened. Like they hadn't just been eye-fucking each other. Like the divine perfume of her desire wasn't floating in the air all around them.

Suppressing a sigh, he started to stand.

"I was wondering if maybe you'd stay with me tonight? I'd rather not be alone."

Her words arrested him. He sank back down. "Ric's never gonna go for that. He'll kick the door down in the middle of the night and drive a stake through my heart."

"Oh, I didn't mean … not for that ….," she faltered, then hastily clarified, "I just mean that I feel safe with you. Will you just stay with me until I fall asleep? Surely, he won't mind that."

It was a fucking terrible idea, whether Ric would mind it or not, and yet, nevertheless, he found himself agreeing. "Yeah, I can do that."

It was pathetic, really, how eager he was to comply with her request. To find pleasure in her nearness for just a little longer.

She stood and gathered some things from a small bag she'd brought on their trip, then went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and change for sleep. When she reemerged, she wore navy blue sweat pants and a maroon Timber Wolves t-shirt that couldn't hide the lithesome suppleness of her form or voluptuous softness of her curves. Bare feet whispering over the threadbare carpet, she progressed silently about the room, clicking off the lights until all was quiet and dark. She got into bed and slid under the covers. Scooting to one side, she invitingly patted the empty space beside her. Though there were two beds in the little hotel room, she clearly expected him to share.

He was fine with that.

The mattress sagged and protested his weight, emitting several audible groaning squeaks as he stretched out beside her, boots crossed at the ankles, hands folded over his chest, head resting on one of the pitifully thin pillows. He'd definitely spent the night in worse, but this place was nowhere near good enough for Elena. She should be sleeping in a five-star hotel with fancy sheets and pillows stuffed with goose down feathers.

But she wasn't, so she adjusted her pillow, bunching it up for better support, shadow-caressed hair spreading out behind her like a dark halo. They lay together side by side for a moment or two before she curled on her side, facing him. "What's the plan if we do find Stefan?"

"Get close enough to snap his neck or shoot him full of vervain. Then, haul his ass home and force him to detox until he's his boring, uptight old self again. The usual."

Her hands twisted in the sheets. "I keep telling myself that if I could just see him, if I could just talk to him, then that would fix everything."

The longing and sorrow in her voice hurt his heart. "I hope you're right."

"But you don't think it'll be that easy."

"Nothing with my brother ever is. Speaking of idiot younger brothers, how's yours?"

Elena accepted his shift in topic. "I think he's mostly recovered from his near-death experience. At least, he seems to be. He's only been a little weirder than normal." She smiled. "Yesterday I walked in on him in the bathroom, and I caught him talking to himself. No phone or anything."

"If that's all you caught a sixteen year old boy doing in the bathroom, I'd consider that a win."

"Oh my god," she groaned and dragged the sheets over her head, but not before she gave him a light smack on the arm.

"What? I'm not wrong."

Her eyes peeped over the edge of the blanket. "Gross, you owe me for that."

"I owe you?"

"Yes!"

"What do I owe you?"

"A story. You have to tell me a story to clear my brain."

"A story about what?"

"Something happy. Tell me something happy you remember from when you and Stefan were young. Before you met Katherine."

"Hmm," he mused, "a happy memory of me and Stefan. We had a few of those, I suppose." He thought for a moment, lips curving downwards, accentuating the hollows of his cheeks. Eventually, his memory banks supplied just the thing to make Elena smile. "Did Stefan ever tell you about the first time he got drunk?"

The corners of her eyes crinkled with delight. "No, but I'm sure you had a hand in it. Tell me, please."

"Father and Mother were throwing some boring party for a bunch of boring adults. So, naturally, I absconded with a bottle of Father's whiskey and convinced Stefan to sneak away with me to the barn."

As he spoke, the blanket slowly lowered until her whole face was once again visible.

"We got completely shit-faced. I'd drank plenty of times before, but alcohol in large quantities was new to Stefan. I could tell he hated the taste, but he kept drinking it. Just to impress me, I think."

Elena commented softly, "He looked up to you."

"Because he was an idiot. And so was I. We'd just replaced our old carriage with a brand new one. When Stefan wanted to take it out for a spin, I thought that was an excellent idea. Somehow, we managed to hitch two of our horses up to that carriage. Stefan begged me to let him drive, and I did. We made it all the way out of the barn, off the property, and into a neighbor's field where we promptly got stuck in a ditch. The horses were freaking out, so we cut them loose. Luckily, they just galloped home. Not so luckily, they showed up wild-eyed and all lathered up. Apparently, it was a big, public spectacle. Mother was beside herself with worry. Father was embarrassed and infuriated. Stefan and I had to walk home, and when we got there, we were still drunker than skunks. Father immediately sensed this and gave us a vigorous tongue-lashing right there in front of God and everyone.

"Just as he really started to get worked up and red in the face, poor Stef hurled all over Father's best pair of shoes. I found that absolutely hilarious. Needless to say, Father did not share my opinion. God, he was so furious!"

Damon laughed, a deep, sincere sound, and Elena laughed softly with him, dark eyes sparkling.

"Did you guys end up getting in a lot of trouble?" she asked.

"I did. I told Father it was all my idea. As I'm sure you know, my father was big into excessive corporal punishment. I could handle it a lot better than Stefan."

"He's lucky he had a brother like you looking out for him."

Damon's hands fell by his sides as the happiness he'd accrued from recounting the old memory dimmed. "Yeah, well, haven't done too stellar of a job lately."

She found him in the darkness, the back of her hand pressing gently against the back of his. Sparks of desire sizzled through his bloodstream at the skin-to-skin contact, lighting him up from the inside out.

A gentle sympathy suffused her brown eyes. "You've lost him, too. I'm sorry."

Once again, he was left unbearably aware that it was his fault that he and Elena had anything in common. It was his fault that they had both lost someone they loved. Guilt pierced his chest like a wooden stake through the heart.

"If I could trade places with Stefan, I would. In a heartbeat. It should've been me." Dead or Klaus's prisoner, it didn't matter. He should've been the one to sacrifice everything, not his brother. And certainly not Elena.

She pushed up onto an elbow so that she was glaring down at him. "Don't say that!"

"Why not? Then at least one of us would be happy."

"You're completely wrong. I would not be happy if you were Klaus's prisoner, and I'd be working just as hard to save you."

He didn't respond, just gazed at her softly. The tiniest furrow had appeared between her delicately arched brows, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to reach up and smooth that wrinkle away with his thumb.

"Compel me," she challenged boldly. "Ask me if I'm lying."

"I believe you."

"No, you don't."

"You should get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us."

She rested her cheek back on her pillow and gazed at him solemnly. "When we find Stefan, you can't do anything stupid. If something happened to you … I couldn't stand it."

"I won't if you won't." His voice was hardly more than a dark rasp.

"Deal." Her smile lit up the room like they were in broad daylight instead of a dark hotel room, disarming him with its youthful sweetness.

Minutes ticked away, neither of them saying anything else, and her eyelids slowly descended, lashes fanning like dark half-moons above her cheeks.

He turned his head in her direction, simply looking. The fine details of her face were largely obscured by darkness, but he didn't need light to see her. He'd memorized the almond shape of her eyes. The high arch of her cheekbones and the delicate flare of her nostrils. The petite point of her chin and the tender column of her neck with its pulse that fluttered visibly just beneath caramel-hued skin. The contours of her mouth, the bottom lip fuller than the top, both lush and pouty, perpetually waiting for a kiss.

In his dreams, she pressed those lips to his, warm, willing, addictive. In his dreams, her kisses always led to more, to the ecstasy of lovers, impossible hope no longer restrained by hopeless reality.

Christ, the things he wanted to do to her, with her. He could sense the passionate, fiery woman lurking beneath her good-girl exterior, waiting to be liberated. He would give anything to be the one who got to guide her evolution into a powerful, sexual being who fearlessly embraced her erotic impulses. She would burn the world down with the heat of her desires, and he wanted nothing more than to go up in flames with her.

And this was the last thing he should be thinking about a girl he could never have.

He had a sudden vision of Elena recoiling from him when he'd offered her his wrist that day they went to Pastor Young's farm. The pain embedded in his heart stabbed deeper than any stake ever could.

"Elena?" he whispered into the darkness, unsure if he wanted her to still be awake or not.

Long, dark lashes lifted, revealing a sleepy, luminous gaze that completely undid him.

He hesitated, searching for the right words, then realized there were no right words and plunged ahead anyway. "What I said when I thought I was dying, that I was sorry for hurting you - I didn't just say it because those were quite possibly my last moments on earth. I meant it. I need you to know that."

For a gut-wrenching moment, there was only silence. Then, he felt her fingers lacing themselves through his, one by one. Only once their hands were irrevocably intertwined did she say, "Do you remember what I said to you next?"

His fingers tightened around hers. "Yes." No matter how long he lived, he'd never forget: I forgive you.

"I meant it, too. I didn't just say it because those were quite possibly your last moments on earth. I forgive you." She raised their linked hands and rubbed her cheek across his knuckles. "And you're allowed to forgive yourself."

She was incredibly wrong about that – he'd done nothing in his life to earn the privilege of forgiveness - but he loved her so much for saying it.

When her eyes slid shut again, she retained possession of his hand, nestling it snugly between her cheek and her pillow. "Good night, Damon."

"Night, Elena."

Even though he shouldn't, he stayed, watching over her, long after she'd fallen asleep.


	3. A Ripper Doesn't Stop!

Chapter Three: A Ripper Doesn't Stop!

Arms crossed, leaning against his SUV while they waited for Elena, Ric asked him for a third time, "Really? Nothing happened?"

Damon tried to look innocent – which he was, dammit. He'd been a perfect gentleman last night. "Nothing happened. We talked, and Elena fell asleep."

Ric rubbed the bridge of his nose like he was developing a headache. "Right." He sounded anything but convinced.

Just then, Elena walked out with her overnight bag on her arm. "It's true. Nothing happened. I asked him to stay. He was just being a good friend. Please don't be mad."

Ric blew out a resigned breath. "I'm not mad. Just concerned."

"There's nothing to be concerned about. I'm here to find Stefan, and so is Damon. That's all." She opened the car door and climbed in, slinging her bag into the back seat.

Damon smirked. "What she said."

They spent the rest of the morning driving to the small town Elena had circled on her map. They located the bar named Bradley's, and Damon went in alone, because the place was a total dive, and he wasn't willing to subject Elena to whatever lowlifes inhabited such a place. He spent just long enough to compel a couple of town drunks into confirming that they'd seen Stefan on the premises.

With that accomplished, their next stop was the nearest real estate agency, where Damon compelled the nice lady at the front desk to hand over the addresses for their most expensive listings. He had a hunch that Klaus was holed up with his werewolves somewhere comfortable and remote. Luckily, a few of the mansions listed fit the bill to a T.

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at the first house they were planning to investigate. Ric parked a good distance away and, opening the back of his SUV, began pulling out and arranging various vampire-killing devices. While Ric was occupied with this task, Damon wandered away to take a phone call.

When he was done, he stuffed his cell into a pocket of his leather jacket and returned, absorbing every detail of Elena's appearance as he did so.

She was beyond stunning, standing idly on the side of the road in a thin, black athletic jacket and matching, skin-tight pants. Underneath her jacket, a scarlet red tank top clung enticingly to the shape of her breasts, still distractingly perky in spite of her sports bra.

Speaking of distractions, if she'd asked him, he might've suggested something that wasn't quite so red. Not because it wasn't a good color on her – it was – but simply because it was perhaps not the wisest strategy to enter a vampire's lair already the same color as injured prey.

But she hadn't asked him. And he digressed.

The mass of her hair was tied in a neat ponytail at the nape of her neck, but a soft breeze had worked some tendrils loose. These she absently tucked behind an ear, a sensual glide of fingers over silken strands that he found utterly bewitching. For the most part, her attention was down, fixed on a point somewhere near her feet.

When he was maybe ten feet away, her head tilted up just the tiniest degree, and she caught sight of him. The small, pleased smile that lit up her face was the sort that made him want to fall to his knees, rip his still-beating, bloody heart out of his chest, and offer it to her if only to ensure that she would keep smiling at him like that forever.

Oblivious to her effect on him, she asked casually, "Who were you talking to? Anyone important?"

"Andie. We were supposed to have a hot date, but that was me rescheduling."

She wrinkled her nose. "Oh. You've been seeing her a lot lately. Is she, like, your girlfriend now or something?"

He tilted his head. A few locks of raven hair fell rakishly across his brow. "Or something. Jealous?" He added that last bit for the sole purpose of giving her bird cage a good rattle.

His reward was the charming hint of rose that stained her cheeks. "No!"

"Are you sure?" Pale blue eyes glinted wickedly. "'Cause you sound jealous."

Her blush intensified considerably. "I'm not jealous!"

"It's okay if you are. Green's a good color on you."

"I'm not - "

"If you two are done behaving like children," Ric interrupted, "we can get started."

In an adorable little huff, Elena crossed her arms and moved away from him, closer to where Ric stood, that enchanting flush slowly fading as her mind turned to hunting vampires.

The array of weapons and equipment that Ric had laid out in the back of his car was mind-boggling and way more than they could ever hope to use. Brass knuckles tipped with sharpened wood, crossbows, stakes of all shapes and sizes, ropes soaked in vervain, and much more overflowed their duffle bag cornucopias, a macabre yet plentiful harvest.

Ric drew a gun from an ammo bag and opened the bullet chamber. "Wooden bullets." The next item he pointed to was a crossbow. "Wooden bolts." Thirdly, he raised what looked like a wrist brace with two stakes attached. "Wooden stakes. Have we grasped the basic theme here yet?"

Bored, because yawn, nothing he hadn't seen before, Damon started rifling through a different bag. He pulled out a grenade filled with green liquid. "Pretty."

"Careful with that." Ric gingerly took it away from him. "Vervain grenade. And this - " He held up a grenade filled with blue liquid. " – is a wolfsbane grenade." Ric grinned and pulled back a black tarp under which lay a handsome black flame thrower. "And if worst comes to worst, we torch the place. Assuming, of course, we can somehow subdue Klaus. If we manage the impossible, there's a bag in here somewhere filled with chains that should hold him long enough. I know it won't kill him, but even Klaus needs some recovery time after getting burned to a crisp. So, that's it. Help yourselves. There's enough for everyone."

Elena began to sort through for her weapons of choice. Damon watched her slip some grenades into her pockets as well as a dart-gun and vervain darts, then finish up by strapping on the wrist brace thing with two stakes, pulling her sleeve down to hide it from view.

He ventured closer and peered over her shoulder as she made final adjustments. "I have to admit, I'm digging the whole warrior-princess vibe you've got going on."

She gave him an amused sidelong smile and bumped her hip into his. "What's your vibe supposed to be? Sexy, lurky guy?"

He saw the exact moment when she realized what she'd just said. She snapped her mouth shut so firmly her teeth clicked together. No doubt she was hoping he'd let that just lie there and move on.

No fucking way. He flashed an arrogant grin, hot as hell and crooked as sin, and prepared to watch her squirm. "You think I'm sexy?"

"And lurky," she pointed out lamely. "I also said lurky."

Which, he pleasantly noted, was in no way, shape, or form a denial.

"Ooo," he teased, "that means you do. Don't feel bad; it's inevitable. Few people are immune to my considerable charms."

Shooting him a smart-alecky look, she hefted a stake in her hand. "You better watch out. Ric says I'm a natural." She mimed a blow that ended with the stake hovering a mere inch above his chest. "See? Right through the heart."

He almost snorted. Jesus, he could've told her a long time ago that she had unerring aim when it came to finding her way to a vampire's heart.

Faster than a striking snake, he caught her wrist and jerked her closer. The point of the stake pierced his black shirt, dimpling the skin directly over his heart. He placed his other hand around hers where it gripped the base of the stake.

"You can't hesitate."

Her spine stiffened. "I won't."

They stared at each other. The delicate feel of her bones under his hands, so easily snapped, sent spikes of fear ricocheting crazily through him, because she didn't stand a chance against the monsters that she was determined to face.

Then, her gaze slid down and rested with palpable heat upon his sculpted, full lips, and fear shifted to a back burner, crowded out by the pent-up hunger this girl constantly aroused in him.

The very air around them changed, took on a different quality, one that crackled with electricity. Popped and gathered between them like the charge before a storm.

All he could think about was kissing her. Just once. A real kiss that wasn't Katherine in disguise or pity because he was dying.

And when her eyes flew back up to his, shimmering with little flickers of heat lightening, his knees went weak, because fuck if she didn't look like she wanted him to kiss her. The definition of torture was denying himself what he saw in her gaze. There was passion, fire … and surrender.

She wanted him to take control of the situation, so that, whatever happened, in the aftermath she didn't have to feel responsible.

Maybe he should. Maybe he should just say to hell with it all and oblige her, forcing her past the lock she'd set over the frighteningly intense desire she wasn't ready to face yet. Maybe he should lean in and claim her mouth with his own, savoring her taste, nipping, teasing, licking the seam of her lips until she submitted to him and opened. Maybe he should place his hands on her body and yank her warm, sweet curves against his hard frame, touching her all over until she was shivering with need.

Maybe he should just give in and kiss her senseless, because why was she looking at him like he was the answer to every one of her dark fantasies if it was always going to be Stefan?

Fucking hell, maybe he should.

But he didn't. He barely managed to resist the impulse. In fact, he never so much as moved a millimeter, and yet she whispered breathlessly, "You can't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like …," she wet her lips with the tip of her little, pink tongue, tormenting him further, "… like you want to kiss me."

"So you're thinking about it, too?"

"I …." She trailed off, her agonized look of uncertainty slicing him up like a thousand tiny paper cuts.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. With obvious effort, he forced himself to let go of her and take a step back.

He'd swear that he saw hurt cross her features, just for the briefest of seconds, but then it vanished. Visibly flustered, she turned away.

He cleared his throat. "Before you run away, here. You'll probably want this."

He extended an open hand when she turned back. Resting on his palm was something long and narrow, wrapped neatly in a black, silk handkerchief.

Her discomposure melted away at once, and her eyes lit up. "You got me something?"

"Mhmm."

She took the handkerchief from him and upon opening it found three stalks of vervain, purple flowers in full bloom, tied together with a thin purple ribbon. She dimpled cutely. "You shouldn't have."

He shrugged. "Have to keep those evil vampires out of your head somehow."

With a laugh, she told him, "I promise I'm not a total idiot. I put some vervain in my coffee this morning, but thank you, this is so sweet. My very own good luck charm." She brought the mini vervain bouquet up to her nose where she gave it an endearing little sniff.

Then, she half-turned from view and, as discretely as possible, stashed the blooming vervain down her cleavage. After a few moments, she resumed facing him, giving her top one last adjustment. "There. Now it's safe. No one will ever find it."

Oookay, he liked that. And not just because of the obvious getting-to-watch-her-touch-her-own-boobs thing. Though that certainly didn't offend him on any level. Mostly, though, he just liked that she was wearing something he'd given her.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something injudicious, but he thought better of it and kept his mouth shut.

"Alright, let's go." She headed into the woods, and he flashed in front of her, bringing her up short.

"Damon!" she exclaimed.

He searched her face, trying to get a read on her. There was a lot going on in the fathomless depths of her dark eyes, and he didn't have a clue about most of it, but one thing he did know was there was no uncertainty. Only pluck and determination. An unwavering faith that her mission to bring Stefan home would succeed.

What would it be like to have the loyalty and love of such a girl? His brother was one lucky bastard.

"Remember our deal," he said. "Don't do anything stupid. Stefan's not the same person anymore. He's going to say and do things you won't like. Are you sure you wouldn't rather wait here?"

"Stefan would never hurt me."

"No, the old Stefan who was your lovey-dovey, squirrel-munching boyfriend would never hurt you. This new Stefan will see you as nothing but his next victim. Do you understand?"

When she said nothing, only gave him a defiant look, he concealed an admiring smile behind his stern expression. "If you insist on accompanying me and Ric, I need you to tell me you understand."

"Fine, so Stefan's not … himself, but I'm with you. You won't let him hurt me."

Such implicit trust. He wasn't sure he deserved it, but she wasn't wrong. He would die before he let anyone, even his brother, harm her. He would always do whatever it took to keep her safe.

Unable to deny temptation any longer, he reached out and grasped a wisp of fly away hair, rubbing the silken strands between thumb and forefinger. She didn't pull away. If anything, she leaned just the slightest bit in his direction.

"If things go to hell and I tell you to run, you do it. No questions, no arguing, you just run."

"Okay."

"Not even close to good enough. I want you to promise."

"I promise."

He didn't doubt the sincerity of her vow in this moment, standing so close to him that she had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye. What he had every reason to doubt was that she'd listen to him once the shit hit the fan. When it actually mattered. She was infuriating like that.

Ric came over. "You guys ready?"

"Yep," Elena said, and Damon's hand fell away from her hair.

Their destination was a mansion perched on a low ridge like a small castle. A long driveway snaked its way up through a heavily wooded yard. Trees rose high overhead, and a lone vulture performed lazy rotations in a clear blue sky.

The trio eschewed the driveway, for obvious reasons, so they found a less direct route up the ridge through the trees. Though with the way Ric and Elena were traipsing through the underbrush, Damon wondered why they'd even bothered. It wasn't like they were going to sneak up on anyone, especially if that anyone had vampire hearing.

As they drew near, Damon held out his arm, bringing Ric and Elena up short behind him. "Be still."

He closed his eyes, listening, scenting the air, a predator searching for its next target.

"Well?" Elena finally asked. "Do you hear anything?"

"No. Nothing." The only heartbeats he detected were theirs. "But I smell blood. It's old."

"So we're in the right place. They're here. Or they were."

"Maybe," Damon allowed with great reluctance.

Elena took off, a headstrong filly with the bit between her teeth. He cursed and zipped after her, seizing her sleeve as she reached the front door. When she glared back impatiently, he held up a silencing finger to forestall whatever she'd been about to rashly blurt out. "Instead of rushing headlong into what might possibly be a trap and/or certain death, why don't you let me go first? Since I'm a lot harder to kill. Just a thought."

"Yes," Ric chimed in, "please, don't let Damon be the voice of reason or we're doomed."

She took a deep breath in through her nose, composing herself. "I'm sorry, I know you're right, it's just….."

"I get it," Damon assured her, "I do, but putting yourself in danger won't help Stefan."

Sidling in front of her, he pushed the unlocked door open and waited. No booby traps exploded or alarms triggered. Always a promising sign. He indicated with a jerk of his chin for Elena and Ric to follow him.

Almost immediately, before he was even completely through the door, Elena brushed past him, racing deeper into the bowels of the house.

Mental face palm.

Ric moved up beside him and murmured, "Stay with her. I'll go check things out upstairs."

Damon nodded and ghosted through the various rooms until he reached Elena's side. She was standing by an indoor pool. Several blow-up rafts and one lonely killer whale floated on the surface of the water.

Signs of debauchery were numerous and indisputable. Empty beer bottles lying on their sides like wounded soldiers. Half-eaten trays of food. Discarded articles of clothing. Other various assorted trash, including a ... was that a …oh, eeww, yeah, that was a used condom.

"Looks like someone threw a party," Elena observed.

But he didn't respond. Something else had already snagged his attention. His gaze was riveted on the backyard, visible through the huge glass windows doubling as walls all around the pool. A small area out back had been reclaimed from the forest and converted into a grassy lawn. Prone bodies lay haphazardly in awkward piles on this lawn, limbs akimbo, the source of the tangy, old blood smell infiltrating his nostrils.

When Elena saw them, having followed the direction of his gaze, she uttered a sickened, "Oh my god."

Briskly, he skirted the length of one end of the pool and headed for a glass door that accessed the backyard. Once outside, he stooped down to inspect the nearest body.

Rivulets of blood leaked from every orifice, though they had dried to a dark red, almost black color. Very stark against the pallor of lifeless skin. This particular corpse was a woman, and her lips were contorted in a rictus of pain, gaping wide. Death had clearly not been pleasant. Perhaps the creepiest detail was the sky blue bikini she wore, the bright color made ghastly in this morbid context.

A cursory survey of the rest revealed that they were all similarly attired in bathing suits and had died in the same manner – whatever that was.

"Did Stefan do this?" Elena asked in a small voice.

"No, I don't know who killed these people, but it wasn't Stefan."

He felt rather than saw the tension drain out of her, her relief was so palpable. "What happened to them, then?" she asked.

He stood and began to walk among the other corpses. "I have no idea."

"I think I'm going to be sick." She rubbed her upper arms with vigor, as though that would somehow ward off her urge to vomit, throat working furiously as she swallowed. "Maybe Ric knows. Do you think he found anything?"

Damon scowled as he continued to inspect the carnage. Had Ric discovered something in a different part of the mansion that might shed some light on these people's unenviable fates? Had he discovered whatever it was that had done this? If so, he might be in trouble -

Further speculation was curtailed by the sound of a familiar voice behind them.

"He found me at least, unfortunately for him."

Turning, Damon was confronted with the sight of his brother holding up a listless Ric. The unnatural dangle of his friend's head made it plain that his neck had been snapped.

With a callous "oops," Stefan deposited Ric's body none too gently on the ground.

Damon's gaze flew to Ric's hand, confirming with relief that his friend wore the Gilbert ring. Then his attention swung back to his brother. Any hope that Stefan might yet retain some of his humanity was permanently erased the instant Damon got a good look at his face. Though dressed normally in a solid gray t-shirt and jeans, Stefan's eyes were flat. Unfeeling. Filled with cunning.

"Stefan," Damon said, at a rare loss to come up with something wittier.

Stefan smiled cruelly. "I see the cure worked, since here you are still clinging to your miserable existence and ruining mine."

Having recovered from Stefan's unexpected arrival, Elena picked that moment to try and dart past Damon. He didn't know if she was running to Ric or to Stefan, but it didn't matter. He wasn't letting her anywhere near his brother when he was in Ripper mode. His hand locked on hers and brought her to an abrupt halt

"Where's Klaus?" he asked, really hoping the Original wasn't about to make his own dramatic appearance.

Stefan's predatory smile sharpened. "It was foolish of you to come here, brother. It was even more foolish of you to bring her."

"Oh, trust me, I wanted to keep this between us, but, well, you try saying no to her. Now answer the damn question."

"Klaus has already moved on, which leaves both of you alive. For now."

Damon spread his hands to encompass the landscape of death upon which they stood. "What the hell happened out here?"

"Werewolves. Klaus turned them."

Damon scoffed. "Then why are they dead? Shouldn't they be … undead?"

"It didn't work. I think we both know why." Stefan looked pointedly at Elena.

Dread wrapped its icy fingers around Damon's heart in a pulverizing grip, freezing him to the core of his soul. If Klaus ever learned that Elena had survived the sacrifice unscathed and was quite possibly the reason he couldn't successfully turn werewolves into hybrids, he'd make sure she wasn't so lucky a second time. Klaus could never be allowed to find out that Elena still lived.

Elena jarred him from this line of thought when she tugged against his hold. Damon held firm.

"Please, Stefan," Elena pleaded, "come home with us."

Stefan arched one eyebrow. "I'm surprised you've even noticed I'm gone, what with Damon to console you, a role I'm sure he's all too eager to fill."

Elena kept talking as though he hadn't spoken. "Nothing that's happened is your fault. Klaus is to blame, not you. He did this to you."

"That's certainly one way to look at it. What do you think, Damon?" Green eyes bored into him with laser-like intensity. Saw too deeply. "Do you agree? Are we where we are right now because of Klaus?"

Damon's nostrils flared. "Just say what you mean, brother."

"I just find it interesting that every time I lose control, you're never very far away."

"Well, here's a little tip for you: stop saving me."

"Stop it! This isn't helping." Elena's reproving glare rested first on him, then switched to Stefan. "This is not Damon's fault. He only got bit because he was saving our friends from Klaus, and now he's here to save you from Klaus. Please, Stefan, we can help you fight Klaus's hold over you, but you have to come home with us. With me."

Stefan shook his head slowly. "You don't get it yet, do you? I'm not coming home. That life is over."

"I don't believe that. You're better than this."

"No, I'm not, and your words mean nothing to me. You mean nothing to me. I no longer have any interest in pretending to be in love with a weak, pathetic human. You're nothing to me but a walking, talking blood bag."

Her sudden, sharp intake of breath was achingly loud in Damon's ears, and right then he could've killed his brother for hurting her like that, humanity turned off or not.

Again, she attempted to tug her hand free. "Let me go."

Again, Damon resisted. "Hell no."

To his complete and utter surprise, she whirled and kicked him in the shin. It didn't hurt hurt, but it did shock him.

"Let me go! This is my choice, Damon!"

"Stop making terrible choices!"

"Damon, please, let me do this," she tried again with eyes that threatened to sap every ounce of will power from him. When they didn't, though it was a close call, she hissed, "Unless saving Stefan isn't really what you want."

Stung, he released her. "Fine, it's your funeral."

Instantly, he regretted his hasty reaction but she was already running to Stefan, who had been watching their interaction with his usual impassive countenance. When she cupped his cheek with one hand, his dour expression never altered. "I love you, Stefan. Nothing will ever change that."

For just a moment, Damon wondered if it would work, if Stefan would actually come around and flip his switch back to the on position, ending this quickly and painlessly. The redemptive power of Elena's love was undeniable, and if anyone could get through to his brother, it would be her.

But all hope was dashed when Stefan sneered, "Then that makes you incredibly stupid."

Elena's free hand moved and so did Stefan's, intercepting the vervain dart before she could jam into his side. He clamped down on her wrist. She cried out and the silver-tipped dart dropped onto the lawn.

"Sorry, sweetheart, did that hurt? Let's see what other fun toys you've got hidden away."

As Damon watched helplessly, Stefan roughly frisked Elena, divesting her of her grenades, her wrist brace thingie, and the dart gun.

Then, between one breath and the next, Stefan spun her away from him and quickly wrenched her arm up behind her at an uncomfortable angle. Startled an pained gasp from her.

Damon's mouth went dry. He'd believed, hoped, that even in his darkest place Stefan wouldn't actually harm Elena, but it was beginning to look like he'd miscalculated. Badly.

Stefan grabbed a handful of Elena's hair and yanked her head to the side, exposing her neck.

"Don't you dare!" Damon yelled. "Hey, Stefan, stop!"

"We can stop this right now. All you have to do is agree to stop following me." Stefan cranked Elena's neck to an even sharper angle. She scrabbled at the part of his arm she could reach with her free hand, drawing blood as her nails dug into his flesh, but she might as well have been a slightly pesky mosquito for all the attention he paid her.

A harsh growl startled Damon, resonated loudly in his ears, and it took him a moment to realize that he was the source of the sound. Without thinking, he had advanced towards Stefan, blue eyes hooded menacingly.

"I wouldn't do that, brother," Stefan warned as his mouth lowered, a sinister gleam of teeth just above the enticing curve of Elena's throat. "One more step and I might have to have a taste. And you know that once I start, I can't stop. I will rip her apart."

Damon froze, every muscle taut as a drawn bowstring. He felt utterly powerless, and he detested the sensation. Detested that his brother, thanks to his new diet of fresh human blood, was every bit as strong as he was. It'd be nothing for Stefan to end Elena, just a twitch of muscle, a flick of his wrist, and Elena's body would break as easily as a porcelain doll's. And Damon would never make it to her side in time to save her.

Even at this distance, Elena's fear was ripe on the air, filling his nostrils. That scent coming from anyone else would be intriguing and titillating. Coming from Elena, it birthed a supernova of murderous rage in him that clamored for released so that it might explode and obliterate anything and everything that was frightening her.

No doubt smelling it too, Stefan sniffed the side of her neck. Inhaled deeply and shut his eyes for a brief moment. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it. How good she'd taste. Can you imagine? Sinking your fangs in. Glutting yourself on Elena Gilbert's blood."

Actually, Damon didn't need to imagine it. While delirious and dying from a werewolf bite, he'd drunk from Elena, under the intoxicating delusion that he was human again and she was Katherine. He didn't remember the rest of the night that well, but he did remember that Elena's blood was quite simply delectable. The headiest of wines, the most decadent of chocolates. Yes, he could remember that quite well.

However, it didn't seem wise to mention that at just this moment, so he didn't say a word, not wanting to antagonize Stefan and risk that he'd take it out on Elena.

Stefan chuckled. "Wow, is this déjà vu or what? It's like we're back on the roof of the Mystic Grill again fighting over some stupid, insignificant girl. Except you're the good brother this time."

"I wouldn't go that far." Damon's gaze flicked over momentarily to Ric's supine form. Now would be a really good time for his friend to wake up and fire off a few well-aimed vervain darts. But he still seemed to be inconveniently dead.

Stefan tipped his head, acknowledging Damon's remark, and gave Elena's arm another solid twist. She whimpered. "I know, I'm kidding. There is no good brother." He stage-whispered into Elena's ear while she gritted her teeth in pain, "Of course, he doesn't really want to save me, he's just hoping you'll sleep with him." Stefan looked directly at Damon. "Don't worry, brother; she spreads her legs almost as easily as Katherine did. I'm sure you'll be able to weasel your way into her bed in no time now that you no longer have to compete with me."

Damon looked away. Stefan certainly knew exactly where to twist the knife.

Elena retaliated before Damon could think of a response. Fluidly, with surprise on her side, she ripped the vervain out of her bra and jammed it in Stefan's face. He shoved her violently away. "Ah, fuck! You little bitch!"

Elena hit the ground. Hard. Promptly, Damon launched himself at his brother, but Stefan flashed away.

Whirling to keep a visual on his brother, Damon interposed himself between Elena and Stefan.

What he wanted to do was separate Stefan's balls from his body and stuff them down his throat until he choked to death on them over and over and over again for the sin of hurting Elena. What he did do was growl, "Don't do this, Stefan. Come with us before it's too late."

"No."

"If you won't fight for her, then you don't deserve her."

Stefan laughed and pressed a hand over the ugly vervain burn on his jaw. "Ah, I see what's going on. You want my blessing, so you don't have to feel guilty for moving in on Elena. Please, by all means, be my guest. You can have her. I don't care. And just between us brothers, I don't care if Klaus ever gets his little army of mongrel freaks. But if you two aren't willing to let me go, then I might just have to tell him why his attempts to make more hybrids have been unsuccessful. I imagine he'd want to do something about that. I imagine that something would be me. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good." Stefan vanished like smoke on a brisk wind.

Damon looked anxiously to Elena. She was on the ground, exactly as she'd landed when Stefan shoved her away, palms on the ground like she was drawing stability from the earth. Her gaze was down and unfocused, trance-like.

There was movement at the edge of Damon's peripheral vision. He looked over. Just Ric waking up. His friend groaned and sat up, rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck.

Damon teased weakly, "Terrible timing. You missed all the excitement."

Ric barked out a laugh that was still half groan.

Damon was pissed at his brother and worried about Ric, but Elena was his primary concern. He refocused on her. "Elena?"

No answer.

"Elena? We should probably get going. Do you think you can walk - "

His words seemed to send a jolt of lightning streaking through her. Before he could finish his query, she leapt up and dashed off with astonishing velocity.

Okay, at least that answered his question. She was definitely capable of walking.

Continuing to run like demons were nipping at her heels, baying for her blood, she burst into the pool room. Right then, every hair on Damon's body stood up straight, and it felt like a swarm of many-legged insects were writhing maddeningly across his skin. It was identical to the feeling he'd experienced when Bonnie cast her locator spell. Someone in the nearby vicinity was using magic.

Elena's hell-bent sprint took a frightful turn. Damon couldn't see exactly what occurred, just that she tripped and was no longer running but flying at breakneck speed toward the ground with no time to catch herself. Her head struck the concrete edge of the pool. Even at that distance, it was possible to tell that it was an acute blow, one that was highly likely to have rendered her unconscious. At the very least, she was stunned. Her forward momentum, however, was unaffected. She rolled into the deep end and went under with scarcely a splash.

After a split second of horrified disbelief in which he couldn't move or even draw enough air into his lungs for an audible gasp, he darted after her, pausing only long enough to scramble out of his leather jacket, not because he cared if he ruined it but because it would slow him down when he needed every ounce of speed. He dove into the pool like an arrow, cutting through the liquid cold with powerful, precise strokes.

She was descending slowly. He hooked an arm around her midsection and swam as hard as he could for the surface. They broke through where he determined that she was unconscious. He hauled her out of the pool and laid her out flat on the cement ground.

A horrid, sinking feeling filled the pit of his stomach as he frantically searched for any signs of life, wiping soggy strands of dark hair from her face. There was a gash in her forehead where she'd struck the edge of the pool. It still was bleeding, oozing into the hair at her temples. He could just barely detect the sound of her heart beating, but so slowly, and it was only getting slower.

Oh god, how much water had she inhaled? It couldn't have been that much, right? She was only in the pool for a matter of seconds.

Didn't matter, because it was not too late. He wouldn't allow it to be too late.

He ripped his wrist open with his fangs and pressed it to her mouth. Most of his blood trickled ineffectively from the corners of her lips. He waited and watched desperately for a sign that she'd ingested enough to heal, but her eyes remained closed, her chest never rose and filled with vital breath, and the wound at her temple didn't mend.

Pure, unadulterated panic howled through him, insistent, clawing apart his insides, dwarfing everything he'd endured previously.

This isn't real. It's a nightmare. It has to be. He was not holding Elena's limp, unresponsive body in his arms. Her limbs weren't dangling uselessly like some puppet whose strings had been severed. No. No!

He began to plead with her, willing her to keep fighting, begging her not to leave him, not like this.

A voice interrupted his dizzying downward spiral into despair. "Give her to me."

Damon looked up, a savagely aggressive snarl twisting his lips, baring elongated fangs. His entire body was tense, prepared to violently rip and tear and destroy whoever it was that thought they could take Elena from him.

But it was just Ric, who instantly fell back on his ass, holding his hands up in placation. "CPR. I'm just trying to help, man."

Damon's rage slipped away, and his vampire aspect faded. All that was left was crippling anguish.

This time when Ric reached for Elena, Damon moved out of the way, giving Ric the room he needed. As he looked on numbly, Ric alternately blew air into Elena's lungs and pumped on her chest, to no avail.

Just as Ric bent down for another round of mouth-to-mouth and Damon had almost completely surrendered to an ever-widening abyss of despair, water spewed from Elena's mouth, and she started spluttering and coughing. Ric sat back and wiped his face, but he was smiling hugely as he did so.

Damon's sense of relief was so overwhelming it was all he could do to just sit there and stare at her. Elena was alive. Elena was alive. She was sitting up and the cut on her temple was healed and she was coughing quite a bit and she was alive.

Having at last regained the breath she'd come so close to dying without, she looked around. Her eyes found his, and her lower lip trembled. Uttering a small cry, she crawled to him. Her arms wound around his neck, and she clung to him, uncaring that they were both soaking wet, sobbing like the world had come to an end.

She shook so badly it felt like grief was tearing her apart. He clutched her tightly, wrapping strong, firm arms around her, doing his best to hold her together, to give her his strength. Anything she needed.

He let the sound of her blessedly beating heart fill his ears, allowed its reassuring rhythm to pound steadily through him.

She was alive.

Vaguely, he grew aware that Ric had come and squatted down beside them. It took longer for it to register that his friend was also speaking. "What?"

"I said we should probably go."

Ric was right. They needed to leave. Damon whispered into long hair still so wet it was almost black in color, "Elena?"

When he felt her nod into the side of his neck, he picked her up and carried her out of there.

They drove straight back to Mystic Falls without stopping. When Ric pulled up in front of Elena's house, he waited inside his vehicle while Damon escorted Elena all the way to her front door. Though Damon had smoothed his features into something resembling calm as he trailed behind her, his insides were anything but.

It was an agitation born of his impending separation from Elena. Ostensibly, there was no reason to worry. She had ingested his blood, so all of her injuries were healed. Her color was healthy, she had cleaned the blood from her forehead, and her hair was dry and loose, falling in soft natural waves down her back. Her spirits had made a remarkable recovery, and she wasn't in any immediate danger.

At least he didn't think she was.

And it was that one niggling doubt that was making it so hard for him to let her out of his sight. Every instinct was screaming at him not to. What if she did end up needing him, and he wasn't there to protect her?

But what was he supposed to do? She'd been quite adamant that she wished to return home for the night. It's not like he could just clunk her over the head and drag her back to his place for safekeeping. Though that idea was not without its appeal. However, no amount of appeal would outweigh how spitting mad she'd be.

Though she was unbelievably adorable when she was mad ….

No. He had to trust that she'd be alright, as much as he didn't like it.

His thoughts fragmented when she stumbled on the top step, which was admittedly hard to see without any of the porch lights turned on. Her unexpected loss of balance had her grabbing his arm to keep from falling face first onto the porch .

"Careful," he said lightly, supporting her with ease, "let's not have a repeat of earlier."

She looked at him sharply. "You think I tripped when I fell in the pool? I didn't. It felt like someone pushed me."

He believed her, which also helped to explain his unease with leaving her alone, but they could figure out what that all meant tomorrow. Despite the brave face she was putting on, he sensed how brittle she was underneath, and when she yawned, it just about dislocated her jaw. The fact that she was still standing right now was a testament to just how resilient and exceptional she truly was.

"Let's worry about the details later." He spoke very softly. "For now, the important thing is making sure you're safe. I want you to go inside, take a hot shower, put on your cutest, most comfy pjs, and curl up in front of the TV and watch your favorite movie until you fall asleep."

"I like that plan a lot." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze and let go, scooting back a few feet. "Thanks for going with me."

He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. "I wish things had gone differently. I'm sorry you had to see Stefan like that." He really was. Not being able to give Elena exactly what she wanted made things hurt inside of him.

"It was awful. He was this completely different person." Moisture appeared on her lashes, caught starlight and glimmered. "He doesn't want to be with me anymore."

"Try to remember that was evil Stefan talking. Good Stefan would never choose to leave you."

After a moment of silence, she said, "You're being so good about all of this. I didn't expect that." She laughed faintly, humorlessly. "I expected you to do something reckless and impulsive that would sabotage our chances of bringing Stefan back. But it was me. I was the one that messed things up, all because I was so sure that all I had to do was ask and he would do anything for me." She clasped her hands in front of her and lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry I accused you of not really wanting to save Stefan."

"Don't be. I get it. You love him. Love makes all of us do crazy things." A fact he knew far better than most.

"He threatened to kill me." She recounted that absently, like she was merely thinking aloud. Then she met Damon's gaze directly, desperately. "Does this mean he's really gone?"

The raw, vulnerable emotion shimmering in her eyes compelled him to step closer. "It means that no matter what happens you're not alone." Poor consolation that was, he knew, but it was all he had to offer.

She nodded and looked away, chewing on her bottom lip. "I don't care what Stefan says. We can't give up on him."

"Of course not." Removing a hand from his jacket pocket, he reached up and, with his index finger, wiped away the solitary tear that hung glistening on her lashes. As he did so, his knuckles brushed along her cheek. Did his touch linger a little longer than it needed to? Probably. "As long as you realize that your ride-along privileges have been revoked. If Klaus ever finds out that you're all that stands between him and his hybrids … Well, let's just not let him find that out, okay?"

She mulled that over for a few seconds, then thrust her chin out. "I can still help in other ways."

He tried to suppress a smile and failed. "Sure, you can start praying that Klaus develops a severe case of festering boils that kills him slowly and painfully."

Her grave expression morphed into a tentative smile. She stepped into him, putting her arms around his neck and pressing her cheek to his.

And just like that, this girl completely disarmed him, left him floundering because he had no experience with someone like her. Elena Gilbert was the most beautiful, confusing, stubborn girl he'd ever known. How could he resist her?

Short answer: he couldn't.

For a short, blissful while, she held onto him. He breathed in the scent of her hair, at once soothing and tormenting.

"Stefan's wrong about you, you know," she whispered. "You are a good brother. And a good friend."

"Keep that to yourself, okay? You'll ruin my reputation," he grumbled.

Her arms tightened around him as laughter escaped her. When she drew back, he felt her lips brush lightly against his cheek, softer than angel feathers, so gentle he might have imagined it. But he knew he hadn't once he saw her face again and the shy smile that graced it.

"I'll see you soon?" she inquired.

A smile tugged one corner of his mouth up. "Yeah. Stay out of trouble until then."

Her smile widened, held an unsurpassable sweetness like that of the sun finally breaking through after an interminable darkness. "I'll try, but no promises. Good night."

She turned and let herself in, leaving him alone on a darkened porch, asking himself where the hell he was going to find the strength to do right by this girl.


	4. What If I Was Indecent?

Chapter Four: What If I Was … Indecent?

He roused from sleep suddenly and completely. Blue eyes opened wide, fully expecting to see the ceiling above his bed. Instead, Elena stared down at him. Her hair was a waterfall of lustrous dark silk streaming down around him, brought to shimmering life by early morning light and shrouding them in their own private world. Her scent filled his senses, the perfect mix of lavender and sunshine and desire.

How could this be real? How could Elena really be here with him in his bed? Surely, he was still dreaming.

He blinked. Then blinked again. She was still there.

"Elena?"

She smiled softly. "Hi."

His hands rose and cradled her face with the reverence due something infinitely precious. "What're you doing here?"

"Do you really want to waste our time talking?"

"No." Nor could he stop himself from yearning that this was real with all his might.

He drew her down for a tender kiss. She came eagerly with a soft press of lips that set his every nerve aflame. Almost immediately, her lips parted, opening to him like the sweetest of flowers. His tongue delved inside, tasting and teasing, the scent of her arousal intensifying. Rather swiftly, what began as a gentle benediction morphed into a turbulent storm of hunger and passion. Their kisses grew greedy. Demanding. He rolled over with her until she ended up beneath him, and thank god neither of them was wearing any clothes.

Her legs fell open, and he slid into the most amazingly wet, velvety heat. A small gasp left them both simultaneously. It was the most exquisite joining, a perfect homecoming. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him to her as his hips began to pump. Right from the start, his thrusts were strong, vigorous, barely satisfying his need to possess her.

He really, really tried to be gentle, to rein in the power of his lust. He mustn't hurt her, mustn't scare her, but she drove him wild. Made him completely insane. How was he supposed to hold back when he'd wanted her so badly for so fucking long? When he needed her so desperately?

"I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you, sweet girl," he crooned hoarsely, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her throat. He could feel her pulse murmuring against his lips.

"Shhh, it doesn't matter. I'm here now, and I'm yours."

"Just mine," he corrected with a possessive growl.

"Just yours," she agreed, arching under him, welcoming him with every roll of her hips.

Her words made his heart leap wildly in his chest, his tenuous control snapping like a tightly wound spring that had suddenly come undone. Plunging into her with hard, deep, pounding strokes, he possessed her the way he needed to, power and pressure ascending to its inevitable sharp apex, mind-numbing bliss beckoning.

At first, he retained enough functioning brain cells to worry that his forceful rhythm might be too much for her to handle, but when she matched his rough demands with a fierceness and a fire of her own, joining him in a hot, fervent dance, all thoughts fled and he lost himself in her.

There was nothing subtle about the way he was fucking her now. No finesse or skill. He wasn't concerned with pleasure or reaching climax. He was simply pure, primitive sensation, every atom of his being focused on their sublime connection.

He wasn't capable of anything else.

Sharp nails pricked into his flesh, scratched down the flexing muscles of his back, spurring him on. The hot little panting sounds she was making in his ear were driving him right over the edge.

Without warning, she vanished, and he found himself pistoning his hips into nothing more than the mattress. He froze mid-thrust and looked up, unease slithering through him. "Elena?"

No answer. He pushed himself upright and glanced around, unease deepening to fear. Where was she? "Elena? Elena!"

His eyes flew open, this time for real. This time alone in his bed.

He groaned at the crushing disappointment that flooded through him, at the ache in his chest that was soul-deep, and scrubbed a hand down his face. Well, if that wasn't fuck all for timing. Even his fucking dreams conspired against him, kept him from attaining his heart's desire.

And left him with a cockstand harder than a diamond in an ice storm. It throbbed almost painfully, weeping for release.

Not ready to give up just yet on the fantasy that had ended so abruptly, leaving him so wretchedly unfulfilled, his hand slipped beneath the tented sheet and wrapped around his swollen length, so over-stimulated it wouldn't be but the work of a moment to find relief.

His eyes slid shut. Hazy visions of Elena, so incredibly warm and wet and willing, rose up and consumed his every thought, a riptide threatening to sweep him out to sea, dragging him under until all he could remember was the way she'd looked while he moved inside her, those dark, seductive eyes glowing with pleasure, mirroring his need.

Rather than try and swim for the surface, he let himself drown.

Tightening his grip, he stroked up and down, found a steady rhythm. His breathing grew heavy. The speed of his hand increased.

Fuck, he was close, so damn close….

His bedroom door blasted open and in waltzed Elena. "Damon! Are you up yet?"

With every bit of vampire speed he could muster, he bolted upright, heart racing, and jammed a pillow over his lap.

"Oh, I'm up," he groused irritably.

Completely oblivious, Elena crossed to his bed, perching on the edge. "Good morning!" She started spreading out a pile of papers, news articles she'd printed off the internet.

Black eyebrows knitted together. "You know, in civilized countries, people usually knock on closed doors before just barging in."

She hesitated, eyes darting around the room uncertainly. "Am I interrupting something?"

He forced a thin smile. "Not at all. What can I do for you, Elena?"

"Um, okay, so I've searched every database I could think of, starting in Tennessee, and I expanded outwards from there. I found every unsolved murder or murders I could that look like they might be possible victims of Klaus. Or Stefan." That last was said in a tiny voice. She rallied and continued. "I need you to help me sort through them and pick the likeliest ones so we can figure out where they are."

He exhaled heavily. He was not in the mood to think about Stefan right now or whatever shenanigans he and Klaus might be getting up to. "Your thoroughness is," he eyed the thick stack of papers dubiously, "impressive, but can I just point out that we do know a witch, one Bonnie Bennett, who can locate Stefan with magic? That seems a lot easier."

"She's spent the last couple of days trying, but she can't get a read on him. She thinks there may be another witch cloaking his movements."

Of fucking course. How did his brother manage to be such a pain in his ass even when he wasn't here? "Alright, I will take a look, but first, if you don't mind, I'd like to get up and get dressed."

"Oh, yeah of course."

He waited, but she didn't move. He gave her a look that said Well?

She jumped guiltily. "Sorry, I …." She trailed off, and her eyes dropped to the pillow covering his lap. Then slowly traveled up as she perused the chiseled planes of his bare chest. "Are you naked right now?"

His eyelids descended, granting him a hooded, sensual gaze. "The better question is why aren't you?"

She made an awkward throat clearing sound. "Um, so, anyway, I'll just leave these here." She started to gather the papers back up into a neat pile, but when he flipped aside one corner of the sheets, she emitted a squeak – yes, a literal squeak – and hopped to her feet. "Call me if anything looks like a lead."

"Oh, I will." He imbued that phrase with a wealth of suggestiveness.

She rushed out the door.

He got up, showered, and dressed. Sometime later, he prowled restlessly downstairs. That's where he found Elena sitting on the leather couch in the library, a blanket draped over the long, supple lines of her legs and a journal propped open on her knees. A pen waved madly as she scribbled away.

He crossed to the table where crystal decanters full of bourbon awaited and transferred some of the amber liquid into a glass. She hadn't registered his presence yet.

"Dear Diary," he intoned while pouring, "I'm a naughty girl. I can't stop imagining Stefan's older, sexier, way more dashing brother without any clothes on. I should probably ask him to spank me as penance."

She hurled her pen at him and, with a minimal expenditure of his heightened reflexes, he plucked it from the air right before it winged past his head. He set the pen down and gave her a wicked grin. "For the record, my answer will be yes."

Her eyes sparkled with humor even as she rolled them. "Isn't it a little early to start drinking?"

"My answer to that question will always be no." To emphasize his point, he downed a sizable portion of his drink.

She closed her journal and shyly peered up at him through shiny lashes. "You're not mad that I'm still here, are you?"

"Furious." He winked in a disarming manner, diffusing her shyness.

"I just really didn't feel like going to school today." She grimaced. "Pretty terrible after all the times I lectured Jeremy for skipping."

He walked around to join her on the roomy couch. "Hey, no judgment here. In fact, you'll find that I'm always one to actively support delinquency. Encourage it, even. Just as a general policy."

He lifted up her feet and plopped onto the couch cushion, settling them back in a comfortable position on his lap. One bare foot came free of the blanket. Her toes were painted with glittery purple polish.

The sound of buzzing filled the air as her phone went off. As she fished it out of her jeans and typed something, he stroked a finger tip down the tender arch of her instep and watched the way her sparkly little toes curled in reaction.

So fucking sexy, he noted, a certain portion of his anatomy perking up with interest.

He set his glass down and wrapped both hands around her foot, pale fingers a pleasing contrast against the tan glow of her skin.

When he began to massage with both thumbs, she stuck her other foot out the bottom of the blanket so he'd have access.

"So, Damon, what big plans do you have for today?"

He smirked. "Oh, you know, make some new enemies, burn a few metaphorical bridges … hang out with you."

She looked inordinately pleased by his response.

When her phone buzzed again, she looked at it. Then, she threw her head back and moaned, "Oh my god, please don't ever stop doing that."

Grinning, he relocated to the arch of her foot, thumbs moving in light, leisurely circles. Under the assiduous pressure of his fingers, the kinks in her muscles slowly released their tension. He was enjoying this pleasant lull where for once there was no immediate danger or pressing issue, and it was just the two of them.

His nostrils flared when he detected the delicious musk of feminine arousal, breathed it in deep. Elena raised her head, and he felt her eyes drifting over him like a warm, erotic sigh. He looked over and met her gaze. Let her see the answering heat in his. She quickly averted her eyes, staring down at her phone.

But avoiding eye contact and texting on her phone did nothing to hide her visceral reaction to his touch - the girlish blush coloring her cheeks or the way she shivered as though imagining his fingers doing something similar somewhere higher up.

Taking perverse pleasure in the fact that at least her body couldn't deny that there was something between them, he asked casually, still caressing her foot, "What's that all about?"

Elena puffed out a breath as her phone announced another incoming text. "It's Caroline. She wants me to go to this thing."

"And you don't want to."

"Not really. There's going to be this stupid end-of-school party at the swimming hole. The last day of school coincides with a big meteor shower that's supposed to be visible in the sky that night, so basically, it's get wasted and look at the stars. I said I would go a while ago, but I made those plans assuming I'd be going with Stefan, and now he's … not here. I don't want to go without Stefan."

"So tell her you changed your mind."

"I'm trying. She's not exactly taking no for an answer."

He kneaded her sole with clever fingers for a few moments, then tossed out, "I think you should go."

She went completely still. "You do?"

"Yeah, why not? You've done enough wallowing, even by Stefan's standards. You deserve to have some fun."

"Go to a party by myself where Caroline will be with Tyler and Bonnie will be with Jeremy and it'll just be one big reminder that I'm all alone because Stefan's too busy being Klaus's evil sidekick? No, thanks, that sounds like the opposite of fun."

His chest tightened at the sight of so much sadness clouding her lovely face. Before his brain could catch up, he heard himself suggesting, "I could go with you." The face she made in response had him quickly adding, "As friends."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea…."

"Embarrassed to be seen with me?"

"Oh, no, it's not that …. I'm just surprised. You really want to go to a party with a bunch of teenagers?"

"I want to go to a party with you. As friends," he reiterated. To give her back her smile. No other reason. That was the lie he told himself as guilt and longing tangled uncomfortably together in the desolate chambers of his black heart.

When her mouth opened, no sound emerged for a considerable length of time, so that she resembled a super adorable fish out of water.

"I don't know, Damon," she finally said.

Though there was unmistakable reluctance in her voice, he could read her well enough to see past that. She wanted to go with him, she just didn't want to admit that she wanted to go with him.

He concentrated on her pretty little toes, pulling, wiggling, gliding his fingers up and down the soft skin and smooth purple nails. "Worst case scenario: you hate it and I take you home right away. But you won't hate it. You'll have a good time, I promise."

She bit her lip, stifling the refusal that had, no doubt, risen automatically on her tongue. She stared at him with huge brown eyes that reflected all of the light in the room. For the space of several heartbeats, she was silent, leaving him with the gut-wrenching sensation that he was teetering precariously on the edge of a cliff, caught in an unbearable stasis of hope and torment, and his doom or salvation depended on what she said next.

Just as he truly began to fear the suspense might actually kill him, she took a deep breath, and a hint of a smile softened her face. "Okay, yeah, why not? I won't cancel. Friend-date, it is."

It took one hell of an effort, but he schooled his features to reflect nothing more than studied indifference, concealing the thrill of delight that spiraled through him. Could he be any more of a pathetic, starry-eyed fool?

"Good." He racked his brain for a change in topic. He came up with, "Did you ever get a chance to mention your mysterious pool pusher to Bonnie? See if she could find anything that might explain what happened to you?"

"No. Not yet." She twisted her hands in the blanket. "It sounds crazy now. There was nobody around, and I was pretty distraught. I probably tripped and just remember it weird. I did hit my head pretty hard."

"I don't think it sounds crazy at all, and I don't think it was an accident." His fingers stilled on her foot, though he kept his hands wrapped warmly around it. He leveled a penetrating blue gaze at her. "Do you remember the car accident on the way home from the Young farm?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'm thinking maybe that wasn't an accident, either."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, you mean … you think they're somehow related?"

"I think it's worth considering until we know for sure one way or the other."

"Do you think it's Klaus? That he knows I'm still alive?"

"I don't. Not that I wouldn't put it past him. This just doesn't seem his style."

"Great, so someone else might be trying to kill me?" Elena sagged against the arm of the couch. "Why does everyone always want to kill me? Just once it'd be nice if someone was after me because they wanted to give me a big basket of adorable puppies or a nice refreshing fruit smoothie. Or a cheeseburger with extra fries."

"No one's killing you." He raised an eyebrow. "And you're hungry, I presume?"

She looked at him hopefully. "Are you offering to cook?"

He laughed and let go of her foot. "What do you want?"

"I'll go see what there is!" Casting aside her blanket, she leapt up and sped off, presumably to the kitchen. Just before she cleared the doorway, her hand sprang out and caught the doorjamb, where she paused and glanced back. "Oh, and then you have to do what you just did to my other foot, because that felt seriously amazing."

She whirled back around and vanished out of sight.

Picking up his bourbon, he drank deeply, swishing the fiery sweet liquid in his mouth before swallowing. He knew - he knew - that this foray into her world was only for a brief duration, purely contingent on Stefan's continued absence, not anything for him to get used to. Literally one of the stupidest things he could do was spend time with her like this, because it would only make it suck that much more when he had to ultimately relinquish her once they'd dragged his brother back from the edge. There would be a price for this small bit of happiness. There was always a price, and it would be his heart that paid.

Even knowing that, he was too weak to stop himself from rising and following after her.


	5. The Allure of Darkness

Chapter Five: The Allure of Darkness

He picked Elena up at eight. They arrived at the swimming hole for the end of the year/meteor shower viewing party, where Damon pulled his Camaro into an available spot among the trees and other cars and killed the engine. Elena immediately went for the door handle, opening her side and hastening out. He didn't know if that was a good sign or not. Probably not.

His exit was much less hurried than hers. As he circled around the car towards her, his heart skipped a beat, because she was an absolute vision, pure and radiant as the dawn in a white dress that flowed loosely over her curves, leaving gracefully toned arms and legs mostly bare. He came to a halt when he reached her. She ran both hands through the dark, glossy tresses that cascaded freely down her back, lacing his next breath with the scent of her lavender shampoo. How the hell she managed to combine girlish innocence and sultry vixen all in the same package, he hadn't the slightest, but she did, and it drove him fucking nuts. Made every bone in his body want, but … brother's girl and all.

"Ready?" he inquired with a playful lift of his eyebrows.

"Yep." She stepped closer and raised a hand, lightly straightening the collar of his black button-down shirt. She caught herself and drew her hand back like she'd touched something hot. "Sorry, it was … out of place."

A half-smile curved his mouth. "Mhmm."

Flustered by his wicked smile, cheeks flaming, she turned on her heel. As she walked away, she shot him a smile over her shoulder. "Come on."

He set after her immediately, helpless to do anything but follow wherever she beckoned, and it didn't take him long to catch her. Once he did, they walked side by side, making their way towards the roaring bonfire visible through the trees.

At one point, her hand accidently brushed against his. A jolt of awareness zinged through every inch of his body from that simple point of contact. She didn't scoot over, but he noticed that she became quite diligent at ensuring their hands didn't accidently touch again.

"Any leads on Stefan?" Elena asked, maintaining a forward gaze.

"Nothing yet, but don't worry, I have everything under control. Andie's promised that I'll be the first to know if any breaking news stories featuring decapitation or desanguination come across her desk."

"Oh, that's nice. Tell her thank you." She peeked sideways at him. "You'll also need to tell her thanks for letting you spend your Friday night this way."

He so did not want to talk about this. "She knows how important my friends are to me. Speaking of friends, have you asked your witchy one yet what she thinks of your probably not accidental pool accident?"

"Not exactly."

Before he got the chance to admonish her, a teenage boy walking by in the opposite direction bumped into Damon. Beer sloshed out of a red plastic cup onto Damon's arm. The asshole responsible mumbled an apology and kept walking.

Damon flung out his arm and snagged the guy's elbow, swinging him back around and causing him to spill the entire cup. It fell to the ground at their feet.

"Dude, what's your problem? I said I was sorry!"

Damon opened his mouth. Elena preempted his speech by seizing his forearm in a tight grip, digging her fingertips into his flesh. Eyes narrowing to blue slits, he glanced down at where she'd laid a restraining hand on his arm. Then he flicked his gaze up to her face with its expression of warning, his very own adorable, exasperated Jiminy Cricket.

Sighing internally, he looked back to the frightened teenager. Damon didn't know why he was spoiling for a fight – not that this kid would give him much of one. He bared his teeth like he was smiling, though there was nothing pleasant about his expression. "You should be more careful. Not everyone's as forgiving as I am."

His fingers released their hold, and the kid staggered away.

Elena tugged on him. "Come on, let's go get a drink."

Continuing to track that boy's retreat, he murmured, "It's like you read my mind."

"Stop it." She planted herself in front of him and forced him to focus on her. "You can't do that here. You have to behave."

He scoffed. "No. The whole point of tonight is to have fun, remember?"

She placed a flattened palm on his chest. His muscles twitched when her touch just about seared a hole through the thin silk of his black button-down shirt. "I'm asking you to be good."

A dazzling smile spread across his handsome face. "Define good."

She shook her head a couple times in feigned irritation. "I'm serious. Please don't make me regret going on a … friend-date with you." Threading her arm through his, she drew him forward. "Come on. Now I definitely need a drink."

They arrived at the epicenter of the party. A bonfire raged on shore, casting a long, orangish - yellow reflection over the dark, glassy surface of the swimming hole. Good thing it was a warm, humid night. Lots of people were already floating and splashing around in the water, the place to be for prime viewing of the meteor shower overhead. But the cosmic fireworks were far enough off that most still stood in clumps on land within the range of the fire's light, drinking, laughing, and chattering excitedly.

Almost immediately, Caroline descended on them. She gave Elena an animated smile. "You made it!" The blonde girl transferred her look to Damon, and her expression darkened. "Both of you." She grabbed Elena's free arm. "Sorry, I need to borrow Elena. Girl stuff." She didn't sound the least bit apologetic.

Elena balked. "Oh, but - "

"Go," he urged, not letting her finish, withdrawing his arm from hers. "Have fun."

Without further ado, Caroline triumphantly swept Elena away.

Left to his own devices, Damon retreated to the tree line. He stood in shadow, close enough to overhear anyone should he choose to. He didn't. Instead, he gazed across the distance, through the flames, to where Elena stood talking amongst a circle of her friends. Ostensibly, he was keeping an eye out for possible threats, but he also just couldn't take his eyes off her. He found himself entranced by her natural, unassuming beauty. Every white flash of teeth as she smiled, every bubbly laugh confirmed that he'd been right to push her to get out. At least for a little while, the grief she constantly carried was lessened.

Perhaps sensing his admiring inspection, she snuck a quick look his way, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and sending him a small, inviting smile. It was obvious she wanted him to come to her, but it was best if he didn't. Seeing her here like this only drove home the inescapable truth that they belonged to two different worlds. Just one more reason why she was better off with Stefan. His brother could blend, make friends, pretend to be human. Not exactly Damon's forte.

Picking up on Elena's distraction, Caroline drew her back in. When Elena turned away to pursue a conversation with her friend, his thoughts darkened and wandered down a baser path. He permitted himself to indulge in a brief fantasy, one where he and Elena came together, both fully willing. No holding back. No regrets.

With crystal clarity, he could envision exactly what would happen. He'd walk up to her. Right here at the party. Wouldn't say a word. Would just sling her over his shoulder, ignoring the scandalized looks of her friends, and carry her away into the dark forest. Once they were alone, he'd set her down and kiss her senseless. Then, he'd order her to turn around and place her hands palms-flat against a tree. Next, he'd flip up the skirt of her little white dress, baring that exquisitely shaped ass. Run his hands all over her luscious curves. Maybe leave a handprint or two. Make those ass cheeks glow a rosy pink. Then, when they were both good and ready, he'd thrust into her while she moaned his name, abandoning herself to passion -

An annoying "Hi" broke through the spell his erotic reverie had woven. Snapping back to reality, he glared over at the girl who was in the process of sidling up next to him. The wattage of her smile increased. "Why are you standing over here by yourself?"

"Go away now," he replied coldly, enforcing his verbal command with some supernatural persuasion.

"Okay." Features completely blank, she departed with swiftness. If only all his problems were so easily resolved.

He resumed his musings, but all too soon, another feminine voice, this one possessing a distinctive, exotic accent, arrested him in mid-thought once more.

"You must be Damon. Stefan's brother."

He glanced at her, pupils dilating. "Get lost." Without another thought, he looked away.

"It must be terrible, being friend zoned. I wouldn't know personally, but I can imagine. Frankly, I don't get what all the fuss is about. I guess she's pretty if you're into dull, mousy human girls."

Mildly surprised, he slowly turned back to the young woman who apparently was immune to compulsion. Wasn't that interesting? "And you are?"

A sly smile crept across her pouty mouth. "A friend of Stefan's."

"I think I'd remember if Stefan had a friend like you."

He wasn't lying. Attired in a sophisticated, low-cut top and hip-hugging jeans that enhanced her full curves, along with her long blonde hair and eyes almost as blue as his, she was the type of woman any man would remember. Objectively speaking, she was definitely hot. Not Elena Gilbert hot, but then, no one was.

He lifted a hand, intending to patronizingly pat her cheek and add something snarky. Faster than his eye could follow, her hand darted out and snatched his wrist. She squeezed, wringing a cry of pain from him. Bones crunched and ligaments snapped.

"I'm a very old friend, so show some respect." Something ancient and deadly slithered behind her sky blue gaze. "Maybe you've heard of me? I'm Rebekah."

"Nope," he gasped out as agony shot up his arm and a frisson of fear skated down his spine.

She released him, and he drew his arm in tightly, cradling his wrist to his chest, even though it had already fully healed. He gave her a black look. "Hate to be the one to tell you, but Stefan's MIA currently."

"Then it's a good thing you're the one I'm looking for. I'm not supposed to introduce myself yet, but, well, I'm not much for doing what I'm told." In a blatantly sexual manner, she came closer and stroked a finger down the silken material of his shirt, over the ridge of his pec. Her chin tilted up, meeting his gaze. "The other Salvatore. I just couldn't resist."

"Well, technically, I'm the oldest, so that would make Stefan the other Salvatore." He cocked his head. "How exactly do you know my brother?"

"A mutual … acquaintance."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No." She leaned in close enough to kiss him. "You do have gorgeous eyes."

Her nearness caused a scowl to tug at his mouth, but he didn't lean away. He was willing to spin this out to its conclusion in order to uncover her end game.

Dried leaves crunched behind him. "Hey."

Elena. He looked at her. Even though the current situation was potentially dire, a spark of pleasure ignited in him at the jealousy plain as day on her face.

Rebekah didn't look over, but her smile widened. He tensed. If she made one move toward Elena …

Noticing his taut posture, Rebekah purred with acid sweetness, "Don't fret, darling, I was just leaving. Unlike you, I have better things to do than attend a high school party." She darted a quick glance in Elena's direction, then back to Damon. "We'll be seeing one another again soon enough. So nice to finally meet you, Damon."

She pivoted, a confident, sensual stride carrying her into the shadows. Even after she was out of sight, he still stared in the direction she'd gone, silent, frowning. Instinct told him that girl was trouble. And not the fun kind.

"Damon, who was that?" When he didn't answer right away, Elena repeated, "Damon?"

He replied absently, "Ever hear Stefan mention a friend named Rebekah?"

"No, why?" Eyes the color of rich brandy searched his face. "Who is she?"

Suddenly, he regretted bringing it up. "I'm not sure. It doesn't matter. It can wait." He hoped. No point worrying her when he didn't know anything yet. He turned fully to face Elena. "What did Caroline want?"

She approached and held out a hand, proffering a small paper cup filled with alcohol-infused red Jello. "To remind me that you're a terrible person and that being around you is a recipe for disaster."

He scowled, accepting the Jello shot. "Sounds like something she'd say."

"I told her to back off. That you had changed and would never do anything to hurt me."

At the thought of someone like Elena defending someone like him, his lips reversed course, quirking upwards, though that was accompanied by a barely perceptible tightening at the corners of his eyes. "Sounds like something you'd say."

"Then, she started talking about all her summer plans, which really brought home that this is the last day of junior year."

"What am I missing?" He brought the Jello shot to his lips and downed it. "I thought no school was a good thing."

"Right, cause now I have all summer free to search for Stefan, but when summer's over? Senior year begins, and I have to start thinking about what I want to do and be for the rest of my life. And I used to think I had all of that figured out, but now …. I don't know. I mean, even when we get Stefan back, it's not like everything can just go back to exactly the way it was. I'm so confused. I don't know if I'll ever figure anything out."

"You will." Moonlight and shadows flitted across the sharp planes of his face as he looked down. "We're going to get Stefan back, and you're going to get everything you want out of life."

Her lips curved with a small, grateful lilt. "What about you? Did you know what you wanted out of life before you met Katherine?"

"Before I became a monster, you mean?" A surge of bitterness spilled liberally into his tone. He couldn't stop it.

A pause as she absorbed his response. Her smiled faded, leaving contrition in its wake. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't've asked."

"It's fine." He was careful to modulate his voice so his next words were kinder. He didn't want to give her the impression that he was upset with her. Because he wasn't. They were his issues that had nothing to do with her. "I wanted what everyone wants, I guess. To be happy." He leaned back against a tree and crossed his arms over his chest. "Whatever that means."

"What did it mean to you?"

Honestly, he wasn't intending to answer - he'd never been much for over-sharing - but there was something about Elena that pulled the words right out of him. "It meant that I would've fallen passionately in love with a girl who actually loved me back. We'd travel, see the world, have adventures. I'd ask her to marry me, and she'd say yes. I'd let Stefan have the estate. He was the heir my father always wanted anyway. I'd buy some land and build my girl a house. Make a living working with horses, breeding and training them. We'd have a family. A big one. I'd be a good husband, and a better father to my children than mine was to me. We'd be happy."

Done, he fell silent, only to have more silence reflected back at him. He dared to look her way and saw a slightly furrowed brow and a kaleidoscope of unreadable emotions swirling in her beautiful eyes. Why the hell was she looking at him like that? He shifted uncomfortably, not liking the way the intensity of her gaze left him feeling exposed and naked and not in a physical, no clothes kind of way. That he wouldn't have minded.

Then it occurred to him what he'd just sounded like. Jesus, he was supposed to be showing her a good time, and instead he was blathering on like a drunk sorority chick! He cleared his throat. "Weren't we talking about you?"

She stretched out a hand. "Come."

"Where are we going?" he asked sullenly, slowly unfolding his arms and accepting her offered hand. The contact made a small electric shock race over the surface of his skin.

She didn't answer, simply stood and tugged him along behind her, leading him down to the swimming hole. The water was full of people floating in the water on brightly colored rafts and pool noodles.

"It's almost time to see the meteors!" she said, grasping the hem of her white dress and pulling it over her head, revealing a mouth-watering, caramel-gold body scantily covered by a cherry blossom pink bikini with white polka dots.

Sweet Mary, mother of Christ. That was the last thought he had before his powers of higher reasoning went completely offline. He was also pretty sure his jaw hit his chest. Eager to compensate for his lack of a working brain, his dick sprang to life, growing rock hard in an instant. He surged in her direction, fully intending to act out his previous fantasy of hauling her off somewhere so he could thoroughly and utterly ravish her. It was only her beguilingly sweet smile that brought him to a halt.

"Your turn," she said.

The first inane thing that popped into his head was, "Huh?" That was the extent of the eloquence he could summon.

"Your turn," his bikini-clad angel repeated with a knowing look, stepping closer. "Hurry, we don't want to miss it."

He forced his brain back into gear so he could respond in coherent sentences. "I'll … wait here."

"No way. I agreed to come tonight because you promised I'd have fun. With you." The look she gave him pulled tight on feelings he wasn't supposed to have.

"I … didn't bring a bathing suit." Everything about this moment was surreal. Was he in another dream? There was no way Elena Gilbert was really begging him to strip down to his underwear. And there was no way he was really hesitating even for a second.

"That's okay," she assured him. "The people that didn't bring one are just swimming in their underwear. Um, you are wearing underwear, I hope?"

Blue eyes gleamed with devilish humor. "I don't know. I can't remember if I put any on this morning or not."

"Damon," she admonished mildly.

"Let's find out."

With deft fingers and a look of unabashed arrogant masculinity, he began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing flawless pale skin that glowed in the illuminating rays of the moon, ridges of perfectly sculpted abdomen, and a sexy line of black hair that trailed down from his navel and disappeared beneath his jeans.

Throughout all this, Elena watched him, completely riveted.

As each button unfastened, leading him closer to the inevitable moment when he'd be in nothing but his underwear in front of her, he racked his brain for a way to remove his clothes without letting her see his massive arousal. She'd probably already noticed it – if she had eyeballs – but if he took his jeans off, there was no way they'd be able to pretend like one of them wasn't extremely, undeniably turned on.

He shrugged out of his shirt, letting it drift to the ground, and reached for the belt buckle of his jeans. He smoothly undid it, whipping it out of the belt loops and tossing it to the ground, and moved on to the top button of his jeans. He fiddled with it for a moment while tucking his chin and looking up at her through thick, black lashes. After drawing the moment out, he popped it open with a snap.

She jumped.

He glanced down at the now visible elastic waistband of his black boxer-briefs, then back up with a grin. "Phew."

"God, Damon, hurry up," she scolded. He could hear her heart leaping around in her ribcage like a frightened rabbit.

He decided to act upon her request and solve his don't – let – her – see –your – raging – hard-on issue in one fell swoop. He closed the small distance between them and swept her up in his arms. She yelped and clutched at him.

The moment her silky soft skin and luscious curves pressed against him, he realized how badly he'd miscalculated. The feel of her. The smell of her. Almost made him forget that he couldn't have her. Biting the inside of his cheek to stifle a groan, he strode rapidly to the edge of the shore. He needed to get her in the water pronto.

Elena shouted, "Damon, no! Don't! Damon – aaaaahh!"

He tossed her like she weighed little more than a feather, and she soared out over the water, hitting with a loud splash. He shucked off his pants, kicked off his boots, and waded quickly in after her. She surfaced, pushing wet tangles out of her face.

"You are such an ass!"

A roguish grin spread across his face as he swam to her. "That's part of my charm."

Still glaring at him in mock outrage, she snagged two random pool noodles floating past and shoved one towards him. "Here."

He put his arms over the buoyant green foam, let it support his weight.

"Elena!" Caroline's yell drew their attention. They looked over and saw the blonde girl floating nearby, waving madly from the midst of Elena's other friends.

Elena waved back but stayed with Damon. Tyler reached over and whispered something to Caroline who replied with something snappish. Then the two stared at each other with identical idiotic, moonstruck expressions. The sexual tension and frustration was obvious from a mile away.

"What's the deal with Blondie and Wolfboy?" Damon asked.

Elena rolled her eyes. "Who knows? I don't even think they know. Caroline insists they're not together, she's still getting over Matt, but Tyler kissed her, and you can tell that they're both into each other, so I don't know why they don't just go for it."

"Sometimes it's not that simple."

"Well, maybe it should be."

"No argument here."

She met his gaze. Blushed slightly. Looked away first and changed the subject. "Then there's Bonnie and Jeremy. I really like them together. She's good for him. And he's good for her, even if he is seeing ghosts. They seem - "

"Whoa, hold up. What do you mean he's seeing ghosts?"

"Anna and Vicki, to be exact," she informed him. "He can see and talk to them."

"Anna? Staked through the heart and burned to a crisp Anna? And Vicki, the girl I - " He stopped right there.

Elena nodded. "Yep. Bonnie says it's a side effect of bringing him back from the dead. She's pretty freaked out about it, but they don't know how to turn it off."

"Can he talk to any ghost or just his dead girlfriends?"

"I don't know. I can ask."

Further speculation was curtailed when everyone began ooing and aahing. The meteor shower was starting. Some intoxicated moron pumped his fist in the air and whooped. Elena clutched her noodle excitedly and looked up.

Far removed from any light pollution, the night sky was a canvas of black velvet painted with a multitude of stars that twinkled like sun-struck jewels. Shooting stars appeared as bright, brief flashes, streaks of stardust hurtling across the vast nightscape.

"Make a wish, Damon!" she urged, gazing at the sky with wondrous delight.

She was filled with joy and life, and he'd never been more in awe of how beautiful she was. How could he make a wish when the answer to every wish he'd ever had, every wish that would never come true, was already right in front of him?

So, he didn't waste a wish on himself. Instead, he committed to memory the way she looked in this fleeting, finite moment, locking it away somewhere deep so he'd have it with him always, no matter how cold and lonely the world became. Then, he made a wish for her. He wished that she would know true happiness in her lifetime, because if anyone deserved to get the life that they wanted, it was Elena Gilbert, and he would move the stars themselves to ensure she got it.

As the last shooting star faded from the sky, her gaze lowered, melded gently with his. She was all he could see. Her features were soft, star-kissed eyes wide, lips lush and pink like a summer rose in full bloom. It would be so easy to close the gap between them and kiss her. He had to remind himself on a second by second basis that that was a bad idea, because … reasons. Lots of reasons that were important, even if he couldn't currently recall a single one of them.

"Did you make a wish?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

He nodded, suddenly desperate to touch her, kiss her, adore her. But he restrained himself, because she'd asked him to be good.

Quickly, she glanced over at her friends floating nearby, then back at him. She pushed her pool noodle away and took his hand. "Come with me."

She started swimming with him in tow. He had no clue where she was taking him or why. She steered him to a part of the swimming hole that was secluded and out of view, where a rock protruded out over the water. It was a good-sized rock, but it was flat and easy to climb onto from the water, which she agilely demonstrated.

He hauled himself onto the rock beside her, settling onto the rough, unyielding surface maybe a foot from her. He didn't know what to say or do, had no clue what to expect, so he sat there, moonlit air cool on his wet skin, a chorus of frogs and crickets filling the night atmosphere.

He tried to ignore the fact that he wore only a pair of wet, clingy black boxer-briefs while she was in a barely-there pink, polka dot bikini. He tried to ignore the sparkling water droplets that clung to her dark hair, trickled down her throat, and plunged into the valley between her breasts. Tried to ignore the way her blood was skipping along sweetly in her veins, luring him in with its seductive siren song, and the way her clean, pure scent wreaked havoc on his senses. All told, she was proving to be more than his good intentions and promises to behave could withstand.

Once the tension between them was thick enough to choke on, she said, "I should be here with Stefan."

Like an arrow finding its mark, her words pierced him, puncturing the tiny bubble of hope that had been slowly rising in his chest. Grinding his molars together, he stared straight ahead. Being around Elena was nothing if not one punch to the gut after another.

Her voice dipped huskily. "But I'm glad I'm here with you."

Stunned, his gaze swung back to her. She offered him a tentative smile, which he returned. Hearing her admit that she wanted to be here with him … was almost worse. Temptation was an evil bitch.

"Me, too," he said in a barely audible rasp.

She inhaled a deep breath, then blew it out in frustration. "I wish I knew how to put into words what I'm feeling right now."

"Try." He'd give fucking anything for any insight into the inner workings of her mind.

She stared down at her toes dangling above the water and wiggled them. "I feel like I'm this double person."

"Well, you are a doppelganger. I assume that comes with the territory."

"No, that's not what I mean." He remained quiet as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Most of the time, I'm this person who knows exactly what I should be doing, so that's what I do. But when I'm with you, it's like I become someone else and all I can think about is …"

"Is what?" he prompted.

"Doing something I shouldn't."

"What shouldn't you do, Elena?" He did his best to keep his voice soft and soothing, the same voice he'd use to coax a skittish filly into eating something sweet from his hand.

She stared directly into his blue, blue eyes. Dug her teeth into her plump bottom lip and nibbled indecisively as heat and awareness resonated in the space between them. "This." She closed her eyes and leaned in.

If his brain had seized up at the sight of her in a bikini, it dissolved into a puddle of useless goo when her impossibly soft lips brushed over his, a sensation that was at once wild and wonderful. Shocking like a lightning strike and sweet like dark honey.

The warmth of her mouth pulsed its way deep into his muscles, seeped throughout his entire body. He discovered that he was no match for the devastating sweetness of her kiss or the way it held him hostage, leaving him utterly at her mercy.

Their hearts beat in tandem three times – beat, beat, beat – before she pulled back, a dazed look in her dark eyes like she was lost in a dream. Her lips parted slightly as if she couldn't quite catch her breath, which was fitting since she'd definitely stolen his.

The devil in him rebelled at the thought of their kiss ending so soon. No. Hell no. Not even close to enough. He needed more. A single taste, and he was already addicted.

Reaching across the few inches that separated them, he placed both hands on her jaw, guiding her back to him and reclaiming her mouth. A gentle quiver coursed through her as their lips pressed firmly against one another, fit together perfectly.

It was wrong, so, so wrong – and it wasn't wrong at all. No girl had ever tasted more right. More irresistible.

When finally, reluctantly, they drew apart, her eyes fluttered open and locked with his. His hands slowly fell away from her face. The only sound he could hear was her heart beating in perfect accord with his. The blissful afterglow of their kiss hummed in the air all around them.

"Elena …" he breathed, unable to finish the thought. He didn't even know what he wanted to say. Not that it mattered, since she didn't give him time to figure it out. Eyes growing round as saucers, she drew in a shuddering breath and promptly, wordlessly slipped back into the water, abandoning him on the rock ledge.

He watched her lithe body cut through the water with the grace of a river nymph as she swam away. He didn't follow immediately, just pressed two fingers to his lips trying to preserve the sensation of her kiss. Profoundly rocked, rattled to his core by the things this girl had made him feel, he needed a few moments to compose himself.

Long after she'd left him, he reentered the water and made his way back to shore. He dried off with a towel someone had left lying around, dressed, and returned to the bonfire. He searched the assembled mass of people, spotting her almost immediately. She'd put her white dress back on and scraped her damp hair back into a loose braid. She was on the opposite side of the bonfire from him, engaged in conversation with Caroline. The two girls stood together, gilded in the golden glow of shifting firelight, roasting marshmallows.

His insides clenched as he recalled the flushed, just kissed look on her face from earlier. He yearned to go to her. Talk to her. But she avoided looking in his direction, purposefully ignoring him.

Guilt and resignation sliced through him like twin, red-hot razor blades. So, she already regretted their kiss. Shocker. Not.

He scowled. You know what? That was just fine. He needed to stay away from her anyway. What he'd done, giving into his craving and kissing her, even though she'd kissed him first, had been the height of selfishness. Elena was in love with Stefan, deserved to be with Stefan, and it was wrong for Damon to take advantage of her conflicted desires just because his brother was temporarily out of the picture.

Even if kissing her hadn't felt wrong. Even if it had felt like the most right thing he'd ever experienced in his entire life.

So he'd just stay on this side of the fire, because, let's be honest, he didn't know what he'd say to her anyway, and focus on something he did know how to do - keeping her safe.

As Caroline walked off to acquire more marshmallows, leaving Elena by herself next to the fire, Bonnie was maneuvering her way through a clump of people to join her.

Damon intercepted Bonnie, who pulled up short with a startled look.

"Witchy," he said smoothly, "you look like your boyfriend's seen a ghost."

Bonnie puffed out an irritated breath. "Better than an obnoxious, narcissistic vampire."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Will it get you to go bother someone else?"

"Absolutely, but first I need a favor."

"Just because Elena puts up with you does not mean that I have any - "

"Elena's in danger," he quickly interjected.

Silence, then a begrudging, "What are you talking about?"

"I have reason to suspect that someone's been targeting her with magic. I want you to help me find out who, so I can kill them."

He'd barely finished speaking when an all-too-familiar sensation rolled over him like a wave of angry, invisible spider legs, causing his flesh to erupt in goose bumps. He shot Bonnie an inquiring look. "Tell me you felt that."

She stared back at him with spooked eyes. "I felt that."

Just then, there was some yelling and scuffling across the way on Elena's side of the fire. Someone screamed like a girl and stumbled backwards. It was the same clumsy teenage boy that had spilled his beer on Damon's arm earlier. Apparently, he'd gotten fresh with a girl. Her boyfriend decided to take exception to this and punched Clumsy in the face. Clutching a bloody nose, Clumsy accidently reeled into the lowered tailgate of a black pickup truck, upon which sat a mammoth-size blue cooler full of partially melted ice and cold beers. Clumsy grabbed onto the cooler to keep from going down, upsetting its precariously perched state on the edge of the tailgate. He quickly righted himself and continued to clutch his bleeding face, but it was too late to save the cooler. It toppled off the lip of the tailgate, caught in the inescapable, downward pull of gravity, and smashed into a metal folding chair, dumping its wet, cold contents onto the ground.

Under most circumstances, not a big deal – such chairs were hard to damage, and if so, easily replaced. This wasn't most circumstances. This time, the two large red gas cans used to ignite the bonfire had been set atop said folding chair. Naturally, the cans weren't even remotely empty, and when they catapulted forward off the overturned chair, they spewed their highly flammable contents freely into the fire, because of course no one had bothered to put their caps back on.

Instantly comprehending the peril they were all in, Damon didn't bother to call out. There were no seconds to waste. His hand simply shot out and Bonnie went flying through the air to land somewhere far away. Then he ghosted forward, calling upon all the preternatural speed available to an almost two hundred year old vampire. He went straight through the bonfire, because a straight line was the shortest distance to his goal. Ignoring the intense burning pain shooting up the lower half of his body, he made it through the fire and wrapped his arms around the girl he loved, doing his best to shield her with his body.

Behind him, the world exploded in flames.


	6. I Believe the Term You're Searching for Is OMG

Chapter Six: I Believe the Term You're Searching for Is OMG

With a roar, a plume of vivid orange-red flame shot up into the sky, dazzling against the dark night. The force of the explosion, as well as Damon's initial momentum, propelled them forward through the air, vicious tendrils of fiery torment licking briefly along the length of his spine before they were fully clear. His arms still wrapped around Elena, Damon twisted slightly in the air, ensuring that he crashed onto his side and bore the brunt of their fall. Once they hit the ground, Elena's mouth gaped, but no sound emerged. The air had been knocked from her lungs.

Before he could comfort her, the stink of sizzling flesh invaded his nostrils. Only vaguely did he grasp that it was his own flesh that he smelled bubbling and melting to the bone, an olfactory detail that, once realized, was extremely disturbing.

Not good. Fuck. If he was on fire, then Elena was still in danger. All would be for naught if he ended up catching her on fire. Had. To. Move. Urgency spurring him on, he feebly crawled away from her, dragging himself through the dirt as flames tortured his body.

Around him, all was panic and chaos, people screaming and running every which way. Then COLD. Shocking, blessed cold splashed over him, dousing the flames.

Caroline was the source. She'd dumped an empty cooler over him that had until very recently been used for chilling a keg. She threw this to the ground and darted off elsewhere.

Damon glimpsed this only peripherally before he collapsed face first into the dirt, groaning, eyes watering. He might not be on fire anymore, but utter and horrific agony continued to radiate from everywhere and nowhere at once. In fact, the pain only continued to increase exponentially as every second went by. Death would be a blessing right about now.

Except he couldn't die, because Elena might still need him. Where was she? Was she alright? He didn't think she'd suffered any burns, but he needed to make sure, needed to see her whole and unharmed for himself –

"Damon!" He turned his head and felt relief rush through him when she entered his narrow range of vision, scrambling on hands and knees to get to him. "Oh my god." From the horrified look on her face, he concluded that he'd acquired more than a mild sunburn.

Cheek still pressed into the dirt, he smiled weakly and found the strength to clasp her hand with one of his. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Fine." Or that's what he tried to say. What came out was an undignified, pained grunt.

"You need blood." She sounded much steadier than she had just a minute ago.

"No." Actually, yes, but he was injured and starving and couldn't risk hurting her, because he already knew that she was going to offer herself. Under any other circumstance, he would love to accept, but not when his control wasn't absolute.

Predictably, infuriatingly ignoring him, she shook her hand loose from his and stuck her wrist dangerously close to his mouth. "You need to drink."

With his body screaming for blood so it could heal itself and end this agony, he didn't hesitate to wrap his hands around her delicate wrist and press his lips against her racing pulse. Maybe Stefan would've had the saintliness and purity of heart to resist, but Damon definitely did not. But he would make sure it hurt as little as possible.

His eyes grew hot and filled with blood, triggering his fangs, which punched through his gums, eager for penetration. When he bit into her wrist, she gasped at the initial sharp sting, then fell silent. Her blood spilled softly into his mouth, an exquisite taste that he could only compare to silk and spices and fire. Wondrous, healing fire that was the complete opposite of the fire that had just ravaged him moments ago. It coursed through him, restoring his strength as it healed his damaged flesh.

He was careful not to move any more than absolutely necessary as he drank. He didn't tear and worry her arm, and he didn't bite deeper so the blood would flow more freely – though the monster in him clamored for exactly that. After only a few mouthfuls, he disengaged, telling himself he needed to stop because he'd had enough, even as he knew that he'd never have enough no matter how much of her blood he consumed.

Nicking the tip of his tongue on the point of a fang, so that a drop of blood welled forth, he licked the bloody holes he'd left behind on her wrist. He watched the broken skin mend instantly, then looked up at her with a grateful, bloody smile. "Thank you."

"You need more," she said.

"No." Yes.

An anxious wrinkle materialized between her brows. "You didn't have enough. You're still weak."

"No," he repeated firmly and pushed her arm away, taking a gulp of cool air. Everything was dark – someone had put out the fire.

He asked, "You? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Just a few scratches." She looked at her elbow. "Oh, I think your blood healed them."

Thank god. With a groan, he rolled over onto his back and licked his lips, not wanting to waste a speck of Elena's blood.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked again, leaning over him. Several locks of lustrous brown hair had worked themselves free of her braid and floated errantly about her face. Her eyes were full of worry, but still hauntingly beautiful, wide and dark and long-lashed.

He grinned. "A nice, cool sponge bath might help."

A smile snuck through her concern. "Might?"

"Give it a try and see what happens," he urged.

Bonnie came into view just then and knelt down next to Elena. "Everyone okay?"

Elena nodded. "Yes, we're already back to our completely normal selves. Have you seen Jeremy?"

Before the words were fully out of her mouth, her brother ran up. "Here."

She smiled at him. "And Caroline?"  
Bonnie replied, "Healing and compelling those who need it."

"Hate to interrupt, but can I get something to wear?" Damon gestured to the charred remains of his clothes that revealed more than they concealed at this point.

"On it." Elena hopped up and dashed off.

"So you felt that, huh?" Damon asked Bonnie casually, referring back to the conversation they'd been having right before the bonfire transformed into a raging inferno.

The witch nodded. "I'm surprised you did, since you're a vampire." One shoulder rose in a half-shrug. "But I'm glad you did, considering the alternative. Thanks."

He ran a hand through his black hair, dislodging any leaves or dirt that may have gotten stuck. "Help me figure out who's behind this, and we'll call it even."

She nodded once. "I'll see what I can find out."

Elena returned and handed Damon a towel.

He shook it out and arched a brow. "Really?"

The towel was pink. With dancing ponies all over it. No, wait, those were unicorns. The towel she'd given him was pink with dancing unicorns all over it.

Her smile was playful. "It was the only clean, dry one I could find."

"Then I guess pink is the new sexy," he declared. He stood, peeling off the scorched remains of his shirt and pants. Not at full strength yet, he swayed as he wrapped the pink towel around his waist, an embarrassing display of weakness that resulted in Elena grabbing his arm and giving him an alarmed look.

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Let's get out of here, huh?"

"Yeah, of course," she replied without any hesitation.

Before he chucked his ruined pants away, he dug out his keys. They'd been in a front pocket, and while the car key itself was luckily not melted, some of the other keys on the ring hadn't fared as well. His phone was a goner, though. Definitely needed a new one of those.

"You are not driving," Elena said, holding out a hand for his keys.

"Uh, hello, vampire. Already healed." He twirled around in his pink towel to illustrate this.

She pursed her lips unhappily.

Jeremy offered, "I can drive Damon's car home if you need me to."

"Like hell you will!" Damon snapped.

"We got it, thanks," Elena said to her brother much more kindly.

She and Damon took off, walking side by side, heading for the spot in the woods where he'd parked his Camaro. He couldn't help but notice – and revel in – the fact that her eyes constantly strayed his way, eating up his bare chest like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet and she was a starving person. So there were some perks to wearing this towel.

"Let me drive you home," Elena tried again after a few minutes of silence.

"I don't think so."

"Damon, you almost got barbecued saving me. The least I can do is drive you home. Please. I can handle a stick, if that's what you're worried about."

Nope, definitely not what he was worried about. One of the hardest things he'd ever done was not following that up with an inappropriate comment. Somehow, he said instead, "I don't even let Stefan drive my car."

Her face fell.

Argh. He was more than capable of driving himself, but if something so minor was so major to her …. Plus, he also secretly enjoyed her fussing over him.

He grabbed her hand, pulling her to a stop, and pressed the keys into her palm. "Here. I'm trusting you. Be careful."

A grin bloomed on her lips, and suddenly, even if she drove his car off a cliff, it was worth it to see her smile like that. "I will."

When she tried to resume walking, he used the hand still on the keys to yank her back around. "Hey, do you have any idea how stupid what you did back there was?" Her smile disappeared. "Never offer to feed an injured, starving vampire. It's a surefire way to wind up dead."

"I knew you wouldn't hurt me."

Their fingers still touching over the keys, he corrected, "No, I wouldn't want to hurt you. There's a difference."

"I did what I had to do. Isn't that the motto you live by?" She snatched the keys out of his grasp.

He rolled his eyes. "Stop being dramatic. There were plenty of other options."

"You didn't see it," she murmured, "You didn't see how badly you were …." She closed her eyes and took a deep, fortifying breath. When her eyes reopened, they were very dark and serious. "I did what I had to do. You risked yourself to save me, so why wouldn't I do the same for you?" She captured her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed for a moment. "Thank you, by the way, for saving me. If you hadn't been there …."

When would this girl learn that he would always be there? "An act of pure selfishness on my part. Stefan'd be pissed as hell if I let something happen to his girl - you know, once he's back to his regularly scheduled emo self again."

Exasperation tinged her voice. "Can't you just say you're welcome like a normal person?"

"You're welcome," he said softly.

As she stared up at him, he battled with himself, wanting to reach out and touch her, hold her in his arms. Kiss her again. But he had no idea if that was even an option, just as he had no idea how she felt about their first kiss. Was she embarrassed? Confused? Ashamed? He couldn't stand the uncertainty. Even though this was the epitome of not the right time, he cleared his throat. "Can we talk about – "

"Please don't." She took a solid step backward. The space she created felt more like an ever-widening chasm than a mere couple of feet. "Let's just go home, okay?"

He swallowed everything he wanted to say, a bitter, jagged pill. "Okay."

She drove them back to the Salvatore boarding house, only stalling out once while backing out of the parking spot. The rest of the ride was pleasantly smooth, albeit much slower than if he'd been the one driving. He had to admit, she was good at handling a stick.

They talked some, a steady stream of light, inconsequential topics. He made her laugh on several occasions – that's mostly what he remembered about the short trip. He loved the sound of her laugh. Of her happiness. She parked beneath the covered part of the driveway, and they went inside.

As he shut and locked the door behind them, he offered, "Need anything while I go get dressed? A drink? Band-aid?"

Reflexively, she glanced down at her elbow. Still healed. "No, I'm fine."

Just then, he detected the sound of someone hurtling down the stairs. Andie came running into view. Taking in his disheveled, towel-clad state, she cried, "What happened?"

He flashed to her side and muttered darkly, "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to surprise you," the woman said.

"And you succeeded." He captured her gaze, using compulsion to augment his next words. "Go home."

Andie took three steps towards the front door, then summoned the mental fortitude to stop and look back at him. Damn his weakness for affecting the strength of his compulsion. She asked reproachfully, "But she gets to stay?"

"Go," he growled, annoyed at having to repeat himself.

The compulsion took, and she departed. He returned to Elena's side.

"Everything alright?" she asked a little too casually. "She seemed kind of upset."

Damon shrugged. "I wouldn't say upset. More like jealous."

"Of what?"

He gave her a significant look. "What do you think?"

She shook her head. "That's ridiculous. There's no reason for her to be jealous."

"No?"

"No."

"You really can't think of any reason?" he pressed.

Her mouth opened. No sound came out. She closed her mouth and swallowed audibly before trying again. "Tonight, when we … you know, when we …." She trailed off.

Beginning to get angry, he snapped, "Kissed. That's the word you're searching for. When we kissed."

"Right." Her throat bobbed as she swallowed again. "It was a mistake."

"A mistake," he echoed hollowly, trying to conceal that she'd just completely eviscerated him. How could she say that? More importantly, how could she mean it? Their kiss had been earth-shattering. Perfect. A revelation. He couldn't be the only one who felt that way. "You said that when you're with me, you can't think about anything else."

"It doesn't matter." She hugged herself, seeming to shrink inwards a bit. "I'm with Stefan, and you're with Andie."

He cursed. "I'm not with Andie! She's …." nothing. Since he doubted that was an answer Elena would view very favorably, he went with, "…. just a distraction. A way to pass the time." Because I can't have what I really want.

"Well, I am with Stefan."

"Except that you're not." His clipped words struck her with enough force that she flinched. "I was there when he broke up with you."

The color drained from her face.

He wanted to take back what he'd said, or at least the way he'd said it, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

Fire flashed in her brown eyes, and she thrust her arms out wide. "So, what, I'm just supposed to move on with you? Is that what you want? You want me to be a slut like Katherine?"

Ouch. He was used to everyone else thinking the worst of him, but for Elena to do the same …. He stalked toward her. Her righteous indignation wilted the tiniest bit under his harsh gaze. "What I want is for you to stop lying to yourself. And to me."

Her bottom lip quivered. "I have no idea what you're talking about. It was a mistake. That's all."

Part of him wanted to push her until she admitted to … what, he didn't even know, just something, anything. But another part of him … knew there was no point. She'd already said it all. Even if she was confused, it would always be Stefan. Daring to ever hope for anything else was a huge fucking mistake, as he should know by now. Suddenly, he just wanted to be done with the conversation.

Brushing past her, he muttered bitterly, "Right, because we're just friends."

He headed for the kitchen where he squeezed a blood bag into a mug and heated it in the microwave. He drank it all. Then, he squeezed a second blood bag into the mug, heated, and drank that, too. Technically, the refrigerated blood did its job, restoring him back to full health, but it was a pale imitation of the fire and richness of Elena's blood.

That taken care of, he went upstairs and rinsed off quickly in the shower, then donned clean clothes.

He heard her familiar, light tread as she entered his room, but he didn't turn around until he was done pulling his shirt on and straightening the hem.

When he finally looked behind him and caught sight of her, she was so gorgeous his breath snagged, refusing to fill his lungs with air. She'd changed and now wore a pink shirt and a pair of shorts. She must've raided the stash of spare clothes she kept in Stefan's room. She'd also unwoven her braid and brushed her hair out into a slightly damp waterfall of rich, dark chocolate.

His face settled into a slightly sour scowl.

Elena sighed. "You can be mad at me if you want, but you started it."

Guilt twisted his stomach into knots. Christ, he was an asshole for making her think he was mad when he had no right to be. She was only with him tonight because she couldn't be with Stefan. The only reason she couldn't be with Stefan was because he had sacrificed himself to save Damon's life. And as usual, Damon was doing a shit job of honoring that sacrifice.

He slowly traversed the length of his room until he stood before her. Casting his gaze down, he said, "I'm not mad. Just sorry tonight was such a bust."

"No!" she was quick to protest. "No, I had a good time tonight, I swear. Until, you know, the part at the end with the huge, fiery explosion. I hated seeing you hurt." Her voice caught. "It was awful."

"Does that mean you were worried about me?"

"Worried? Damon, that fire could've killed you!"

"But it didn't, and now I'm good as new." He gave her his most wicked grin, guaranteed to melt the panties off of every woman who saw it. "Maybe even better."

"You're not funny." She moved closer, stepping into him and gently smoothing her hands over his clean shirt, stroking the hard, lean muscles of his chest which flexed in reaction to her touch. "What's going on? Why did the fire explode like that? I really don't want to believe that it was because of me, but if it was…. So many other people could've gotten hurt this time. What am I going to do?"

The look in her eyes was so frightened and vulnerable he had to fight off the urge to pull her into his arms and hold her until she felt safe again. "Look at me." He snagged her chin between thumb and forefinger and turned her pretty, worry-filled face up to his. Ice blue eyes gazed into warm brown ones. "I want you to let me worry about it, okay?" He stroked his thumb along her bottom lip, lingered over the pouty dip right in the middle. Tremors went through her. "I'll figure it out, and I'll handle it. All you have to do is trust me." And hope that Bonnie came up with some answers sooner rather than later.

"I do."

His grin reappeared. "Then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You're still training with Ric?"

"Every day."

"Good." He caressed the length of that satin-smooth bottom lip with his thumb again. "You liked it. Our kiss. Admit it." He batted thick, black lashes. "You think I'm a good kisser."

"Well, I think it'd be weird if you weren't," she replied tartly, "considering how much practice you've had."

"Just say it," he pressed, leaning closer, letting his hand fall from her face back to his side. His nose brushed lightly against hers. The gentle puff of her breath warmed his cheek. The scent of feminine arousal suffused the air, thick and sweet as honey, tormenting him to no end.

"Yes, I liked it, okay? That doesn't mean that I – that we …."

Her voice faded away when he captured her waist, pulling her against him, eliminating the space between them. He could feel those heavenly little breasts of hers with their pebbled tips pressing into his chest – Jesus H Christ, she wasn't wearing a bra - and she was undoubtedly aware of every inch of his blatantly aroused flesh that jutted like steel into the softness of her low belly.

She inhaled raggedly. "Did you like it?"

He laughed gently. "Not even close. Worst kiss in the history of worst kisses. Seriously, it was bad. Epically bad – "

She pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him. "Okay, I get it. Jeez."

"We should try again," he murmured against her finger. "Get it right this time."

"We can't." Her finger began tracing the sensual shape of his mouth, gliding like silk over the seam of his lips. "It's not right. I - "

" – love Stefan. I know." How could he ever fucking forget?

She lowered her hand from his face and curled her fingers in his shirt, though her eyes remained fixed on his mouth. She was very obviously thinking about kissing him again.

Fate couldn't have devised a more appropriate punishment for all his many sins than Elena Gilbert, the girl who tested and tried every dark impulse he couldn't give in to, not with her. He reminded himself that he had to do the right thing. It didn't matter that he wanted her every second of every day or that her body quite clearly wanted him in this moment – she was with Stefan. She loved Stefan.

What she was giving him right now was already far more than he deserved. It was enough, it had to be, to simply touch her. Breathe her in. Experience how right she felt in his arms.

He'd swear on anything that would make her believe him that he had no intentions of kissing her and every intention of stepping away from her … eventually. Until he heard his name drift from her lips, "Damon," a whisper of a sound that wasn't a protest but two syllables suffused with such desire and need he didn't have the strength to resist. How could he deny this girl anything, least of all a kiss?

And it wasn't like he had far to go. She was right there, waiting expectantly. His lips touched hers, so softly they wouldn't have bruised a butterfly's wing. For a single moment, her whole body stiffened with resistance, radiating tension. Then, she melted against him, fisting handfuls of his shirt and pulling his mouth harder against hers.

He groaned and kissed her back with equal fervor. Fuck, kissing her felt so good. Like really, really, really good. Everything about her, her intoxicating heat, her lavender scent, her delectable sweetness, overwhelmed him, ensnaring him ever more tightly in her innocently spun web of seduction until all he could see, all he could feel, all he could taste was her. And still he wanted more, wanted everything – her body, her heart, her soul. But was he pathetic and selfish enough to settle for whatever he could get? You bet.

With teasing flicks of his tongue, his mouth moved over hers, coaxing those rose petal lips apart. She opened to him, and her flavor slid across his tongue, a sweetness beyond imagining, so incredibly amazing and right and necessary. She was like the first breath of spring, bringing his winter body to life, a goddess of passion and sunlight who scorched him to the frozen-most depths of his soul.

Angling his head, he guided their kiss to a deeper, darker place, until it became an all-consuming assault on the senses that left her soft and malleable in his arms. Raw, wild hunger quickly ramped up inside him, aching for release, so sharp and intense it held the power to absolutely, gloriously destroy him. It was a hunger that only this one girl could satisfy.

Eager to taste more of her, he pulled back so he could lick and nibble his way along her jaw. She shivered when he reached her earlobe and drew it between his teeth, sucking and nipping. He trailed small, feathery kisses down her throat, nuzzled the hollow where her pulse beat erratically. He took the soft skin of her neck between his teeth – still human, though the urge to swap them out for fangs was there – and worried it slightly. No pressure, just the most delicate scrape of teeth over tan skin.

She whimpered and raked her nails lightly along his scalp. She was completely at his mercy right now, and she wasn't the slightest bit afraid.

He remembered her words from earlier: I knew you wouldn't hurt me.

Foolish girl. Foolish, beautiful, amazing, complicated, one-of-a-kind girl.

Another memory followed swiftly on the heels of that one: It was a mistake.

If that was true, then so was this, but it felt so damn good that right now he didn't care. He was going to savor every moment before it blew up in his face, which it inevitably would.

He returned to her mouth, claiming it with kisses that were no longer tender or exploratory but brutal and ravenous. Her arms tightened around his neck, fingers tangling themselves deeper in his black hair. Her hips thrust shamelessly against his hardness in a silent plea for more, the only form of honesty he'd get from her. Her body couldn't lie to him, wasn't confused at all, and it told him something so very different from her words.

The unexpected sound of the front door banging open was loud enough that even Elena heard it. She leaned back, lips swollen, pupils blown out with passion. "Is someone here?"

"Hello! We know you're here, so you might as well come out," an accented, feminine voice called out.

Damon's eyes slide shut as air hissed between his teeth. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Who is it?" Elena asked.

"Just stay here," he commanded.

If it was who he was hoping it wasn't, he didn't want Elena anywhere near her.

Though it was seriously the last thing in the world he wanted to do, he peeled himself off of Elena, feeling like he was leaving behind ten layers of skin in the process, and headed for the door.

"Damon, wait," she called, starting after him.

He swung back around, his fierce look bringing her up short. "I'm asking you to stay here. Please."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but he left before she could. He headed downstairs, already plotting violent, bloody murder. The sound of dual beating hearts guided him to the parlor.

There they stood imposingly out in the middle of everything as if they owned the place, both of them reeking of Old World hauteur, Rebekah in the same trendy top and jeans he'd seen her in not that much earlier and Elijah in an impeccably well-tailored dark suit.

Fuuuuck. Instantly, he was in a shit mood. He'd assumed that the worst part of his night would be almost burning to death. He really hated being wrong.

"Please, forgive the intrusion," Elijah said. "We know it's late."

"Elijah." Damon curled his lip and eyed the Original balefully. All he wanted to do was go back upstairs and keep kissing Elena. But as so often happened, he was not going to get what he wanted. "The last time I saw you, you were on your way to kill Klaus. Disappointing follow-through, I have to say." He directed his next comment at Rebekah. "And you again. Twice in one night. Am I supposed to feel flattered?"

"You've met?" Elijah looked askance at the blonde girl.

Avoiding his gaze, she pouted. "So?"

"We had an agreement."

She gave a devil-may-care shrug, but still didn't look at him. "I was bored. This town is extremely boring."

Elijah turned back to Damon. "I apologize for Rebekah's impulsiveness. My sister and I mean you no harm, as you can see by the fact that we haven't killed you yet."

"Though that can change easily enough," Rebekah drawled.

Still stuck on the bombshell that had just been casually thrown out there, Damon's eyes bounced back and forth between Elijah and Rebekah. She was his sister? Another Original?

As he processed that unexpected tidbit of information, Elena appeared. She echoed incredulously, "Sister?"

Elijah straightened. "Katarina?" Then he blinked. "Elena." Without further hesitation, he moved in her direction, stopping an arm's length from her.

If Damon had entertained any suspicions at all that Elijah was the mastermind behind the random magical attacks on Elena, they were now laid to rest. If her death was Elijah's goal, he could've already killed her, and there was no one who could stop hm

Nevertheless … Damon moved to Elena's side.

A small smile softened Elijah's reserved, patrician features. "What a pleasant surprise that you did indeed find a way to survive the breaking of Niklaus's curse. And yes, Rebekah is my sister."

"I thought you said that your siblings were lost." Elena didn't sound accusing, just confused.

"One of Nik's many lies," Rebekah cut in. "Obviously."

"But how? Where?" Elena still sounded stunned.

"Rebekah's previous whereabouts are … complicated," Elijah hedged.

"Nik plunged a dagger in my heart and kept me in a coffin for a hundred years. He undaggered me five days ago."

Elijah smiled thinly. "I stand corrected."

Choosing a random decanter, Rebekah pulled the stopper and sniffed experimentally. She made a face, then set it back down and peered at Elena through long, thick lashes. It was a look that was somehow both mischievous and malevolent. "Interesting story, I met Stefan first. He loved me first." With a haughty sweep of long blonde hair over one shoulder, she opened another decanter and brought it to her nose. She made another disgusted face. "Every one of these decanters is full of bourbon. Absolutely wretched."

"Funny, I don't remember offering you a drink," Damon snapped, somewhat defensively.

"Funny, I don't remember caring if you did or not." She slammed the glass bottle down hard enough that the bottom shattered. "Do you have any idea how upsetting it is to find out your brother has compelled your lover to completely forget about you? Stefan doesn't even recognize me! And the worst part? Nik expected me to just go right back to being his loyal little sister after he undaggered me. Fortunately, he hadn't had time to hide Elijah's coffin away yet with the rest of our siblings. First moment I had to myself, I undaggered Elijah and we fled. My brother has gone too far this time. He's a traitorous bastard who deserves to rot in hell for everything he's done."

"That all sounds horribly dysfunctional and like it's not our problem," Damon said. "Why are you here?"

"We merely wish to have a little chat," Elijah interjected smoothly. "As you may have gathered, we're not with Klaus. For various reasons, reconciliation with my brother is no longer an option."

Damon smirked. "So how long exactly did it take for Klaus to betray you after you made the mistake of sparing him? My money's on not very long."

Only a gentle flaring of the nostrils betrayed Elijah's distaste for Damon's accurate insinuation. "This is not about settling personal scores. My brother means to build an army of vampire-werewolf hybrids loyal only to himself, and should he succeed, everyone will be in danger."

"We already know all about Klaus's plans," Elena said, "but we're safe right now. He can't turn werewolves into hybrids yet, not as long as I'm alive."

"We think," Damon quickly added, "we don't actually know that for sure." He could've throttled Elena. Telling Klaus's siblings why Klaus's hybrid transitions weren't working was, by any and all standards, a terrible idea.

"Yes," Elijah said, "I imagine your survival does put an interesting wrinkle in my brother's plans, but it doesn't change the fact that we dare not wait. He is a threat that must be dealt with immediately."

Damon held up his hands in a timeout gesture. "Okay, let me make sure I have this right so far. We need to kill an unkillable Original vampire/werewolf hybrid before he makes more unkillable vampire/werewolf hybrids. Gee, if only we'd had an opportunity to do that earlier…. Oh wait, you did. You were supposed to rip his heart out, and you didn't."

"I assure you, no one is more aware of the regrettable nature of my actions than I, but I didn't know where Rebekah was, or the rest of my siblings. Niklaus offered to take me to them. Perhaps you can find it in yourself to understand why I find it so difficult to give up on family, even my brother."

"Not if my brother was Klaus."

"Do you know of another way to kill Klaus?" Elena asked. "I thought there weren't any."

"There is one."

Elijah fell silent, and as though they'd rehearsed it, Rebekah took over the telling. "Our family lived here a thousand years ago, long before this town with its horribly cheesy name was founded. An enormous white oak tree grew outside our home. This is the only wood we are vulnerable to. After we turned, we burned it down and saved the ashes."

"To use with the silver daggers. I remember," Elena recalled.

"The daggers don't work on Klaus," Damon sniped.

Elijah resumed the thread of conversation. "But an entire stake made of this same white oak would. It would kill him. It seems we were in error when we believed we had destroyed this threat to our family. A new tree rose from the remains of the old. A second white oak tree."

Elena said, "Great, so why are you here instead of out finding it?"

"Our home was built on the land you now call the town square. Neither it nor the white oak remains in any recognizable form."

"That still doesn't explain why you're here."

But Damon had already figured it out. "My family ran the mills. Kept all the logging mill records."

Elijah nodded. "Precisely. That is why we're here – to ask for your help locating the one weapon that can kill Klaus."

Damon's eyes narrowed to slits. He wanted to kill Klaus as much as the next guy – actually, probably more – but he also didn't trust Elijah or his creepy sister. "You don't particularly strike me as the ask-for-anything type." Not when they had the strength to just take or the ability to compel others to do their will. "What is this, really?"

"A courtesy I'm granting you as a way of making amends. I wronged both of you when I broke my vow to kill Klaus. This time, it is I who owe you the apology. I'm sorry, and you have my word that I will not rest until I've rectified my mistake."

Un-fucking-believable. Blue eyes blazing, Damon advanced on Elijah. "I hope you don't think some bullshit apology is just going to make up for the fact that you completely fucked us over." The blood in his veins became a thundering rush of fury as his temper ignited like liquid flame. "Or that Elena's still in danger from Klaus, because of you. Fuck your word. We're not helping you with anything."

Elijah didn't so much as flinch in the face of Damon's rage. He held Damon's gaze steadily, not blinking. "Consider very carefully whatever it is you're about to say or do next. I'm in the mood to be indulgent, but moods change."

Reacting to the quiet threat in Elijah's words, Damon's muscles grew taut, and he balled his fists. If he'd thought he'd have even a ghost of a chance, he'd try to take Elijah. Hell, maybe he would anyway just because he needed to hit something so badly….

But Elena reached out and put a hand on his arm. Her touch brought him back to himself, and he looked over at her in lieu of doing something incredibly rash that he'd wish he could, but wouldn't be able to, take back.

"Wait," she said softly. "Maybe they can help us with Stefan."

"You would actually trust them?" He didn't bother to lower his voice. They'd hear him either way.

"Trust them, no. Use them, yes."

As inappropriate as the timing was, he found her little mercenary streak sexy as hell. "This is the part where I'm going to tell you you're making another stupid decision, isn't it?"

"Yes, and this is the part where I'm going to remind you that you promised you'd help me save Stefan. Trust me. Please."

She had that determined lift to her chin that informed him her mind had already been made up and trying to persuade her to take a different course of action would be an exercise in futility. Reluctantly, he backed up and tilted his head in a manner that could be interpreted as assent.

"All we want is Stefan," she pronounced, looking to Elijah. "We'll promise to get you the information you need to find this white oak so you can kill Klaus, but you have to promise that Stefan won't get hurt in the process. Deal?"

Elijah smiled softly. "I believe we do have a deal. I will do whatever is within my power to see you and Stefan Salvatore reunited."

Ignoring the stabbing pain in his heart, Damon impulsively said, "There's one more thing."

Elijah's eyebrows raised the slightest degree. "Continue."

"If this making amends thing is genuine, then that means that no matter what happens, no matter whose side you wind up on, Klaus can't find out that Elena's alive."

Elijah nodded in agreement. "Done, and easily so. You have my word that he'll never learn of her from me."

"I'll just have to hope that means something this time." Damon narrowed his eyes at Rebekah. The attractive blonde girl had wandered to the opposite side of the parlor and was gazing up rather disinterestedly at a dour portrait of some distant Salvatore relative. "Her, too."

Elijah said, "Rebekah."

She glanced over with a sneer. "Why do I have to promise anything? I couldn't care less what happens to the bloody cow."

"Rebekah." There was an edge to Elijah's voice this time that made Rebekah's lips compress into a flat line.

"Fine, I promise not to tell. You have my word. Happy now? Are we done yet? I don't understand why we haven't just ripped their heads off. That one, especially." She pointed to Damon and skewered him with such a fierce look he almost took a step backwards before he caught himself. "He's pretty, but quite rude."

"I'm not the one barging in uninvited into people's homes in the middle of the night," Damon pointed out.

She whirled away from the sanctimonious painting of his ancestor and stalked towards him with predatory grace, a sleek, golden lioness eager to disembowel her prey as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Prowling right up to him, she leaned in close enough that the cruelty in her sky-blue gaze unnerved him and the scent of her perfume cloyed in his nostrils. "Find the white oak so I can drive a stake through my brother's miserable heart, or I will delight in driving one through yours – after you've watched me torture her first." She indicated Elena with a jerk of her chin. "I'll make her death last for days, and you won't be able to do a thing about it. I don't give a damn if she's the key to Nik's hybrids or not."

"Aren't you a little ray of sunshine," Damon quipped nastily.

Bee-stung lips curved maliciously. "I get that a lot."

Elijah looked towards the ground, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying to suppress an amused smile. He plucked at his cuffs, straightening them. "I do believe we're done here." He moved up beside his sister and laid a gentle hand on her arm. "Come, Rebekah, you've made your point." In an aside to Damon, he added, "There are other matters that require our attention. We'll return soon."

The two Originals departed as rapidly as they'd arrived, leaving Damon and Elena standing together alone in the living room.

"Well, that just happened," Damon said into the silence. "Tonight just keeps getting better and better."

"No, this is good," Elena told him. "They're going to help us save Stefan. Where are they?"

"Where's who?"

"The milling records."

He sighed. "Elena, it's late."

"There's no way I can sleep right now. Where are they?"

"The library. The whole right wall."

She took off at a run, this girl who'd been so warm and pliable in his arms just a short time ago and who would hardly look at him now. He joined her as she was pulling several of the heavy, leather-bound volumes down off the shelves. This time, he knew better than to bring up what had been happening between them not fifteen minutes earlier in his bedroom. She was in full on Save Stefan mode.

"Is there any way to narrow down which ones we need to look in?" she asked, waving a hand to clear the swirling dust from the air, a side effect of rearranging books that hadn't been moved in decades.

"Do you know what year the town square was cleared?" he asked.

"No."

Damon squinted and gazed along the rows of shelves that extended up to the ceiling and expanded from wall to wall. "Yeah, this is gonna take awhile."

"That's what I thought." Sighing, she grabbed an armful of the daunting, heavy books and plopped down on the couch. He followed suit.

"Too bad we can't ask Stefan," he mused, cracking a book open and staring with dismay at the multitude of quickly scrawled, barely legible clerical entries. "I bet he'd know the year. He's always been really good at the boring stuff. It's his thing."

She gave him a look.

"What?" He affected an air of innocence. "You don't think he'd know?"

She tried her best to stifle her smile, but he saw it trying to peek through, like sunbeams shining through a dark cloud. "Just hush and start reading."

A genuine smile spread across his face. "Yes, Miss Gilbert."

They combed through the pages together, sitting next to each other on the leather couch, looking for any entry that described the ultimate fate of the white oak tree that could kill an Original hybrid. All they discovered were moth-eaten ghosts and dusty boredom.

After an hour or so of searching through eye-straining account ledgers and business archives, Damon groaned and complained, "Now we know why they wanted us to do this. Because it fucking sucks."

Elena didn't answer. Her eyelids drooped as she leaned precariously over the page she was on, half asleep. He reached over and caressed the elegant curve of her cheek. "Hey, sleepy girl, go upstairs and lay down in Stefan's bed. We can keep looking in the morning."

Her eyes snapped open. For a moment, she looked confused, like she wasn't sure where she was. Then she focused on him and jumped, pulling away. "Thanks, but I should go home."

"It's late. Stay," he pleaded, doing his best to sound like he wasn't. Even if she was in Stefan's room, he still wanted her nearby. An unknown enemy was after Elena, and Damon had no idea when or where or how or even why they'd strike at her next. To put the icing on that fucking perfect cake, two Originals were now in town. The thought of being separated from her right now nearly drove him insane.

"Staying's not a good idea," she whispered.

"Then, at least let me drive you home."

She looked down, her long hair a curtain that left her face in shadow. "Not necessary. I'll take Stefan's car home. I know where he keeps his keys. It's not like he's going to need it anytime soon."

"Uh, yeah, sure," he agreed with a leaden heart.

With alacrity, Elena sorted the books on the couch into Already Read and To Be Read piles. Then, she jumped up, said a quick, "See you tomorrow," and hurried off.

Damon waited a few minutes, shut the book he'd been scouring, and rose. As he poured himself a healthy glass of bourbon, he listened to the muted tread of her footsteps climbing the stairs and searching Stefan's room for his keys. He downed all of the bourbon in a single swallow before she came back downstairs and let herself out. He poured himself a second glass, the flowing sound of amber liquid a poignant countermelody to the purr of the car engine as she drove away.

For just a brief moment, he stared down into the bourbon, reflecting that Elena's eyes were more whiskey colored than bourbon. But he never picked up the glass and took a drink. Instead, he left it sitting on the table where he'd poured it and proceeded to the library wall stuffed with logging mill records and pulled down a volume from a shelf just slightly above his head. Mindful of its fragile, deteriorating condition, he set the book down on the back of a leather chair and flipped through a few pages until he found the right one. This page he perused carefully. When he was sure it contained what he needed, he ripped it out and folded it up. He was shoving the folded paper in his back pocket when …

Knock, knock, knock.

He flashed to the front door and opened it, teasing, "Alright, what did you forget?" When he saw it wasn't Elena who stood on the other side, he straightened, smile fading. "Bonnie. What're you doing here?"

"You were right," Bonnie said, distress visible in her green eyes, "Elena's in serious trouble."


	7. You Know You Were Dreaming about Me

Chapter Seven: You Know You Were Dreaming about Me

Damon stepped back, an invitation for Bonnie to enter. The witch walked past him into the parlor area. He followed, and when she remained standing, he did as well. No fire was lit, and the light was dim, leaving their faces mostly in shadow.

"Is Elena here?" Bonnie stroked back a lock of wavy hair that had fallen over her cheek, an anxious gesture

"Just left." He crossed his arms. "Why don't you tell me exactly what's going on."

Bonnie hesitated, like she wasn't sure how to begin, then took a deep breath. "I reached out to someone for answers about what happened tonight, to a source I could trust. Jeremy helped me."

A black eyebrow rose skeptically. "Jeremy?"

"He saw my grams. She came to him as a ghost."

"That's a neat trick," Damon murmured. "So, what did she say?"

"She told us why Elena's in danger."

He waited maybe two seconds, then demanded impatiently, "Well? Pins and needles over here, Bon-bon. Who is it? Who wants to hurt Elena?"

"That's the thing - it's not a who. It's … magic. Magic itself is trying to kill Elena."

For a moment, he was too astonished to react, his face going completely blank. He blinked once, then twice, and finally recovered his voice. "What?"

She nodded to indicate that he had indeed heard her correctly.

"No!" Blue eyes flared wide. "No, that doesn't make any sense! What does that even mean, 'magic itself'?"

Bonnie gestured vaguely around the room. "The power that witches tap into to cast their spells, the forces of nature that can be found in all things - flowers, people, the sun and the moon. Magic."

He scowled and rubbed between his brows, trying to wake himself from this nightmare. He really hated witch crap. "Please help me understand why magic would want to kill Elena."

"There was a reason Klaus had to sacrifice her – not just anyone's death was the price to break his curse. That spell required the blood, and the death, of the doppelganger. When I resurrected her, it created an imbalance. Klaus is a hybrid that's no longer bound by his curse, and Elena still lives – two things that shouldn't exist at the same time."

Damon snarled, "No! John fucking Gilbert gave his life so she didn't have to."

Bonnie shook her head. "John Gilbert's not the doppelganger. His death bought her time, but not enough for a normal life."

Overwhelmed, enraged, and scared witless, with zero answers and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he rounded on Bonnie, because there was no one else available. "How did you not know about this until now? Shouldn't the spell you used to resurrect Elena have a huge asterisk next to it – void if the resurrectee also happens to be the main ingredient in a maniacal villain's ancient ritual?"

"Yes, a warning would have been nice, but it doesn't work that way."

He closed his eyes, counted to three. That didn't help, so he counted to five. That didn't help either, so he snapped his eyes open and growled through clenched teeth, "Let's just skip to the only part that matters. How do we stop this?"

"My grams doesn't think it can be stopped. What she does know is it's going to get worse. The bursts of magical energy are only flaring sporadically for now, here and there, days apart, but as time passes, the magic will come after Elena harder and more frequently."

Bonnie's answer left Damon feeling helpless. How the hell was he supposed to save Elena from an invisible, primal force that was everywhere - magic itself?

There was nothing to fight – or, more importantly, kill. He could keep trying to protect her, and he would, no question, but eventually ….

He'd fuck up and lose her, and it would be his fault. It would only take once. There would come a time when he wasn't fast enough or strong enough or there with her when she needed him the most. It was inevitable.

For one paralyzing second, panic mixed with dread, and together they overwhelmed every cell in his body, every muscle, every bone, every drop of blood, torturing him with painfully vivid images of all the dire calamities that could befall her - that he wouldn't be able to save her from.

He forced himself to start breathing again. In. Out. Deep inhale. Slow exhale. "Have you told Elena yet?"

"No." Bonnie didn't look happy about that.

But Damon found that to be an infinitesimal speck of hope in a vast, eternal ocean of despair . "Good. Please, don't, not yet. Just give me a little bit of time. I'll think of something, she doesn't need to be burdened with this, please, Bonnie."

Bonnie's lips twisted humorlessly. "This might be the only time I ever say this, but I actually agree with you. There's no point telling Elena unless we can also tell her that we have a solution. Otherwise, she'll spend all her time jumping at every little noise, and that's no way to live her life."

"Thank you. There has to be something we can do," Damon insisted. "There has to be a way. There has to be a …." He put his hands together like he was praying, and maybe he was. "Look, Bonnie, I realize that Elena's the doppelganger, but she's also just a girl. Can't you tap into the magic or commune with the spirits or something and tell it that? Tell it that she's an amazing person who deserves to live a long and happy life."

"I wish I could," Bonnie said sadly.

Damon tried again. "Tell it that it can have me, instead. I'll take Elena's place." When she didn't respond, he stepped closer and begged, "Tell it, Bonnie, please."

She just kept looking at him with the same sorrowful expression. "You can't take Elena's place. You're already dead."

"Bonnie - " he started to argue.

Her eyes flashed. "Don't you think I've already tried to come up with a loophole, Damon? But I don't know what to do! The Magic can't be bargained or reasoned with. It only wants one thing- to maintain the balance, and as far as it's concerned, Elena's not supposed to be here."

He struggled not to explode into a frenzy of murderous, destructive rage. It wasn't fucking fair. Klaus should've been the one who died the night of the sacrifice, not Elena. Instead, her life was going to be cut brutally short while Klaus got everything he wanted and lived forever.

The injustice pissed Damon off so much that the fury he'd barely restrained began to boil white hot in his chest, expanding and choking his throat closed, blurring his vision to a hazy red.

But just before he gave in to the impulse to go nuclear, an idea came to him, and he experienced a brief, shining moment of sheer brilliance. Oxygen rushed back into his lungs, granting him the breath to blurt out, "Klaus."

Bonnie eyed him oddly. "Klaus what?"

"Don't you see? It's so simple. All I have to do is kill Klaus. If he dies instead of Elena, the balance will be restored, right? There won't be any more hybrids, so there won't be any reason to keep trying to kill Elena. She can go back to having a normal life, right?"

"That's possible, I guess," Bonnie conceded, "but - "

Damon held a hand up, cutting off whatever else she intended to say. He didn't want her negativity to spoil this moment. "Stop right there. The tiniest possibility is good enough for me."

It was amazing how much better he felt with the reinvigorating winds of hope and bone-deep relief swelling his sails and putting a fresh gleam in his pale blue eyes. He had a plan. A mission. A villain to defeat. Get his hands on the white oak, kill Klaus as quickly as possible, and save his girl and his brother. He'd make everything right in one fell swoop.

And, thanks to the square of folded up paper in his back pocket, he knew just how to get started. No time to waste.

The following morning, as dawn was giving way to day, Damon tucked a bag of pastries under his arm and knocked on Elena's front door with the hand that didn't have a coffee drink in it.

Jeremy answered. His normally shaggy hair looked extra disheveled. His eyes were bloodshot.

"Baby Gilbert," Damon announced with perky cheer just to be obnoxious, "not who I was expecting. I'm surprised you're awake this early."

Jeremy winced at the piercing quality of Damon's greeting. "Haven't been to sleep yet."

Damon made an impressed face. That was respectable.

"Elena's upstairs," Jeremy mumbled, turning and walking away.

Damon strolled along behind, following him into the kitchen. Jeremy went right to the fridge like he'd been drawn by a magnet. He opened the door and sighed when presented with its mostly bare innards. His face bore the piteous impression of a neglected puppy that hadn't been fed in days. Damon reached around him and placed an iced latte on a shelf. Jeremy shut the door with a quiet thump.

"Elena's upstairs," the kid repeated, going over to the pantry and inspecting the contents of that. Also, mostly bare.

"I heard you, dumbass." Then, Damon recalled that he was here as a supplicant, so he adopted a more conciliatory tone. "Believe it or not, you're the one I need to talk to."

Jeremy switched his focus to the brown paper sack Damon had yet to unburden himself of. "What's in the bag?"

"Muffins." Damon pulled the bag to his chest. "For Elena."

"Can I have one?"

Damon pretended to consider. "Will you do something for me?"

"Can I have one?"

Damon nodded curtly and passed it over.

Jeremy unrolled the top of the bag and pulled out a brown muffin caked in brown powdery dust and took a bite without even removing the paper first. "What do you want me to do?" Crumbs caked the corners of his mouth.

"Bonnie's filled you in?"

Jeremy nodded.

"Then you know I need to find Klaus."

Jeremy nodded again and took another bite of muffin.

Damon poked his lips out thoughtfully. "I bet news travels fast in ghost world."

"They call it the Other Side, and I wouldn't know."

"True, you wouldn't, but it occurred to me that you do know someone who would."

"Anna and Vicki."

Damon grinned. "Exactly. If you could just nicely ask them to put an ear out on the ghostly grapevine and listen for any rumors, any rumblings, any recently murdered werewolf ghosts who want to rant about their psychotic hybrid murderer and his dickhead ripper sidekick. Maybe they'll reveal a clue, something that could help me figure out where Klaus and Stefan are – and, more importantly, where they're going to be. I know it's a long shot, but it's worth a try."

Jeremy regarded Damon solemnly. "Anna's here. You can ask her nicely yourself."

"Huh." He quickly glanced around as though seeking some sign of the dead vampire girl's presence. "That's creepy. So, what do you say, Anna? You know you want to. If you think about it, in a roundabout way, Klaus is responsible for your mother's death. If you help me, it'll be like you're helping to avenge her. And I know you care about Jeremy. He's so cute." Jeremy made a face at Damon. "Think how pitiful he'll be if he loses his sister. Help me find Klaus, and I promise you I will end him and no one else gets hurt."

There was a pause, just long enough for Jeremy to finish peeling the paper off his muffin so he could finish eating it, and then he told Damon, "She says she'll do it, but she also says you're extra pathetic now, even more pathetic than you were before, and you owe her big."

Damon snorted. "Bring me something useful, and I'll consider it. Thank you, Anna." Though he did have to wonder – what sort of favor would a ghost need? Oh, well, he'd cross that bridge if and when it came up. He slanted a glance back at Jeremy. "One more teeny, tiny request."

Jeremy rolled his eyes as the last bit of cinnamon pastry disappeared into his mouth. "What?"

"Your sister has enemies right now that she can't fight alone. I'm going to ask her to move into the boarding house until I can take care of Klaus and get Rebekah and Elijah the hell out of town. It would really help out the team if I could say that you were willing to stay there, also. Bonnie and Caroline, I'm sure, will be hanging around a bunch, too. That way we can all work together to ensure her safety. There will always be someone with her."

Jeremy wadded up the muffin wrapper and walked over to the trashcan to throw it away. "You're not gonna try and impose rules on me, are you?"

"The only rule is don't piss me off. Otherwise, do whatever you want, I don't care. And the kitchen will always be fully stocked."

"I get my own bathroom?"

"You can have your own wing."

Jeremy cracked a smile. "Sure, that sounds pretty cool. Since it's for Elena."

"That's the spirit."

After securing a promise from Jeremy to hold off on telling Elena any of the things they'd just discussed, the same promise he'd also extracted from Bonnie, he left Jeremy in the kitchen and made his way up the stairs to Elena's room.

She was in her bed, sleeping peacefully, safe and sound. His heart constricted at the sight of her so utterly prostrated. So incredibly beautiful. So unbearably innocent and vulnerable. He hated that darkness had touched any part of her life – but he would fix that. He would kill Klaus and make everything right.

Careful not to wake her, he approached and sat down on the edge of the bed, still marveling at how lovely she was. A tiny furrow appeared on her forehead. A moment later, it smoothed out. His mind wandered irresistibly to a question that, once it had occurred to him, he found fascinating - of what did Elena Gilbert dream?

There was a way he could find out, but she would be furious. She definitely wouldn't approve of him infiltrating her dreams without her permission.

Another furrow rippled across her forehead, stayed a bit longer than the first, then vanished.

He frowned. What if she was having a bad dream? He had the ability to comfort her, to make her dreams pleasant. He could just slip in quickly, find out what was upsetting her, and alter it so that the remainder of her sleep would be undisturbed.

Without a second thought, he touched the back of her hand and closed his eyes. Trickles of psychic Power flowed from him into her, seeking the warmth and energy of her mind. She had no defenses in sleep; entering her dream was child's play.

His eyes reopened, and he raised a hand to ward off the blinding sunlight. Before his vision had a chance to adjust, Elena called out his name.

"Damon!"

He turned in the direction of her voice just in time to catch her with an, "Oomph," as she collided into him at full speed, a smile on her beautiful face and sunshine in her dark hair.

"You're late," she chided, winding her arms around his neck. She wore a lavender sundress, and there were violets woven into her silky tresses. She looked just as Persephone must've looked right before the young goddess was so rudely abducted by Hades.

"I am?" he replied.

"Mmhmm." She kissed the point of his chin. "I've been waiting for you."

"You have?"

She laughed, pressing a delighted kiss to the end of his nose. "Of course. It's no fun without you."

"What's no fun without me?" An obnoxious inner voice piped up: You're only here to make sure her dreams are sweet, Salvatore. Stay on track. "No, wait," he amended, "don't answer that. Are you okay? What's going on? Why are you running? Is there something chasing you?"

She kissed him full on the lips, effectively rendering him too senseless to form any more words. "You're being weird," she admonished playfully. "Come on."

Letting go of his neck, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her through a verdant meadow awash in the warm joy of sunlight. Wild flowers blossomed everywhere, their happy, sun-gilt faces peeping over the tall grasses, perfect landing pads for the brightly colored butterflies frolicking about and sampling sweet sips of nectar. The enchanting perfume of honeysuckle and wild roses filled the air.

What the hell was Elena dreaming about?

Though he attempted to remain alert for danger, she ran as if she hadn't a care in the world. She led him to the edge of the meadow where an enormous, sun-dappled blue blanket had been spread over the ground just inside the shadow of a massive oak tree.

Elena took a seat on the blanket gracefully, the skirt of her dress belling out around her.

He sat also, because it would've felt awkward to keep standing when she was sitting. He continued to scan the area, stretching his enhanced senses as far as they would go. He detected only birdsong and bees droning and the tinkling of a stream nearby. "Elena, what're we - "

She silenced him by leaning over and pressing her lips to his. A very efficient technique. He had to commend her.

"Mmm," she hummed against his mouth, "are you hungry?"

The heat simmering in her gaze eclipsed everything else, and he answered truthfully, "Starving." He wasn't talking about food.

Her lips curved into a bewitching smile. She turned to a nearby basket, the sort that would be used for a picnic, lifted the lid, and withdrew a bowl of strawberries. They'd been halved and the green tops removed. Ready to eat. With a sensuous motion, she popped one of the sweet, red fruits into her mouth. Selecting another one, she held it up to his lips, displaying a comfortable intimacy around him she'd never exhibited when they were awake.

Even knowing it was wrong – he really should leave her dream now, she was obviously not in any kind of distress – she was so completely irresistible that he couldn't stop himself from leaning forward and biting into the succulent treat. He loved how heavy-lidded her eyes grew when his tongue flicked out and teasingly licked the juice off her fingertips.

He offered a strawberry to her, placing it right up against her mouth. She ate it, wrapping lush, pink lips around his finger in a manner that left him imagining what else she could wrap those sexy little lips around.

While he was still musing over the possibilities, Elena decided it was her turn to feed him again and raised a strawberry up to his lips. Deliberately, his gaze locked on hers, he sucked the fruit and her forefinger deep into his mouth. The raspy heat of his tongue stroked up and down, licking and savoring the sensitive flesh. She tasted even sweeter than dream strawberries. Lips pulling back on a long, hot, slick glide, he slowly released her finger.

She didn't even give him time to finish his strawberry. She simply attacked him, straddling his waist in one smooth motion and throwing her arms around his neck. She slanted insistent lips over his, encouraging him to swallow without chewing. He did, then deepened the kiss, letting her in. Their tongues touched, tasted, tangled together.

She tunneled her hands under his jacket and slid the black leather down until it was a puddle on the ground. Skimmed back up his arms, lingered over the hard swell of his biceps. He couldn't help himself – he flexed. Laughter illuminating her face, she looked at him. He grinned back.

Greedily, she kissed him again. Tilting her hips to the perfect angle, she rubbed her core repeatedly up and down the ridge of his erection, undulations so sweet he didn't know how he'd last.

With lust throbbing in his veins, he stroked up the warm curve of her spine, encouraging her rocking motion, fingers tangling themselves in the dark, glossy mass of her hair, softer than the finest silk. He took care not to dislodge any violets and wished with all of his heart that this was real, that reality was the painful dream from which he'd finally awakened.

What did it mean that this was what Elena was dreaming about?

At one point, when he had his tongue back for personal use because she was otherwise occupied nipping and tugging on his bottom lip, he inquired, "Do we do this often, you and I? Is this what you dream about?"

"Mm-hmm," she affirmed, sliding her hands under the hem of his shirt and up velvety smooth skin stretched tautly over a solid wall of lean muscle, "whenever I get the chance. You're really good at dream sex."

"You know, I'm really good at real sex, too."

Her fingertips glided over his ribs, exploring every ridge of bone and sinew. "I bet you are, but we can't."

Blue eyes glittered defiantly. "You mean, we shouldn't. We definitely can."

"Damon," she reproved softly.

Stomach muscles clenched when she started swirling her fingers through the thin strip of soft black hair below his navel. "You know how I feel about you."

"I know, but …."

"But what?"

She stopped playing with his happy trail and gave him a look of pure exasperation. "You know why we can't."

"Stefan." He attempted to toss the name out there lightly, just a pebble dropped into a still pond, submerging with barely a ripple. That wasn't what happened. Instead, it landed between them like a stone thudding to the hard, unforgiving ground.

What almost resembled anger flashed across her face. "No! Don't say that name here." She reached up and cupped the nape of his neck. She rested her forehead on his. "This is our time, just you and me. Besides, you know that's not the only reason we can't be together."

His hands tightened in her hair. Self-loathing filled him. "Because I'm a monster."

"No, not that." Her fingers sifted gently through the black strands curling down his pale neck. Every one of his nerves tingled with awareness. "And you're not a monster. Not to me."

He glanced down, a fringe of thick, black lashes shielding his gaze from view. He didn't want her to see how much she had affected him with that simple declaration.

She didn't allow him to withdraw, but raised his face by placing a finger under his chin and kissed him, a tender press of warm lips that lasted quite awhile. He let himself be distracted, because kissing her felt so good, but eventually he gathered the wherewithal to prod gently, "Then, what is it?"

She went very still, and he could feel the agitation coursing through her.

"Please tell me," he murmured. He let go of her hair so he could cradle her face in his palms. He waited, focused solely on her, striving to decipher the conflicting emotions that swirled and vied for supremacy across her delicate features.

His patience was rewarded. After a long moment of silence, she asked, "What if you only think you love me because I remind you of Katherine?"

Taken aback, he cocked his head. Swept his thumbs along her cheekbones as he thought. He decided to go with the truth. "A, I despise Katherine. If you really reminded me of her, I'd've killed you."

His bluntness shocked her. She recovered quickly. "But you didn't."

"But I didn't."

"And B?"

"B, I didn't know what love was until I knew you. I thought I did, but what I felt for her and what I feel for you – not even close to the same. And not something you ever need to question."

She bit her bottom lip, pearly teeth digging in until he leaned over and sucked her bottom lip away from her, soothing and caressing the mistreated flesh with his tongue. When he relinquished her lip, she looked dazed.

"What if I'm not good enough?" she whispered, uncertainty flaring inside her eyes.

He frowned, confused. "Not good enough for what?"

"I've only ever been with," she hesitated, "one person, and you've been with … more than one person. You've probably done a lot of really kinky stuff. What if we, you know … and then you think I'm boring or I disappoint you?"

"Not possible," he paused to clear his throat, "and, yeah, you could say I've been around– a hundred and seventy years is a long time – but I don't need any of that stuff. Elena, all I need is you."

She didn't look convinced.

"Do you remember the things you felt when we kissed, when it was real?"

She nodded shyly, smiling at the memory.

"Now," he commanded in a low, seductive voice, "I want you to imagine the things you're going to feel when I'm inside you, fucking you hard and deep, satisfying your every desire because your pleasure is my pleasure."

"Oh," she breathed, clearly imagining exactly that. Her breasts, high and firm, swelled against the top of her lavender sundress, quivering with the force of her exhalation.

He gently adjusted a violet that was threatening to tumble from its spot at her temple. "Our sex will be a lot of things, Elena, but boring and disappointing aren't even remotely close to any of them. Now I know you're not seriously worried that we're going to be anything other than amazing together in the sack, so what's really going on? What are you really afraid of?" He stroked his finger down her nose and tapped the tip. "Hmm?"

She pouted. "Can we please talk about something else?"

"Elena - "

She silenced him with a long, deep kiss, then regarded him with suspiciously narrowed eyes. "You don't usually talk so much."

He laughed and decided to let it go. He liked where this was heading, and if he upset her too much, she might wake up. "Oh? What do I usually do? Please tell me it involves rolling around naked with you."

Her answering grin was too adorable for words. "It definitely does."

Overcome by the depth of his desire, he urgently grabbed her by the nape of her neck and pulled her mouth back to his for a fierce, hungry lip lock. The only brief interruption came when Elena ripped his shirt up and over his head and then they were kissing again. Her hands dove down and nimble fingers busied themselves with his fly.

Before she could finish unzipping his pants, he shifted, bearing her to the ground beneath him with vampire speed. She squealed with laughter at the abrupt change in position. He buried his face in her neck, nuzzling tan, supple skin and making her giggle harder. Her hands slid admiringly up and down the broad, powerful muscles of his back, and her legs wrapped around his waist, pressing the hardest part of him against the softest part of her.

Licking and kissing a trail down her neck, he molded a hand to her breast, kneading and plumping the tender flesh. An already hard nipple hardened even further, begging for his mouth.

Well, he'd hate to disappoint.

His mouth continued to descend tenderly over the high arch of her collar bone, down to the tops of her breasts, barely contained behind the low neckline of her sundress. Her fingernails dug crescent-moons into his back as she arched up, freely offering what he was about to take.

Through the thin, lavender cotton, he pressed a kiss right on the tip of her nipple, and she moaned, a soft, breathless sound. Sealing his lips around the distended bud, he teased it with his tongue. That elicited another moan. He sucked and flicked and tugged until she gasped his name aloud.

He looked up when she called out to him, the length of her nipple still caught lightly between his lips, and their eyes met.

"God, Damon," she groaned, "I want …."

He released her nipple, leaving behind a wet spot on her dress where he had been suckling her.

"Tell me what you want, angel." He kept his lips pressed to the top of her breast, warm breath sending shivers across her sensitized skin. She was so deliciously responsive to his touch. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to love her, adore her, pleasure her. Make her his now and always.

"You already know what I want." She wiggled against him in a manner that clearly communicated what she wanted, just in case he didn't.

He growled, but refused to let it go that easily. "Tell me again. Please, I just need to hear it. Just once."

She froze beneath him, her stillness absolute. He rose over her and stared down. The sight of her beneath him – brown eyes sparkling with pleasure, caramel skin infused with a lovely shade of aroused pink, long hair artfully tangled and full of violets – was so unbearably erotic that need howled inside him like a wild animal, gnawing at his bones and worrying his entrails. He forced himself to be patient and wait for her answer, rather than falling upon her like the aforementioned wild animal.

Finally, her lips parted, and she whispered, "I want - "

He never got a chance to hear what she was going to say. His eyes flew open only a fraction of a second before her lids trembled and slowly raised.

She'd been awakened by something. Ah, the radio on her clock had turned on. She must've set an alarm before falling asleep. He reached up and turned it off.

He watched her stiffen with fright upon learning she wasn't alone, then relax when she realized it was just him. Her lips curled affectionately. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I was just dreaming about you …." She blushed and sat up straight, clutching the sheets to her chest, an accusatory glare developing on her face. "What're you doing? How long have you been here?"

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about the drool."

"I do not drool."

"Tell that to the wet spot on your pillow."

She huffed, "Seriously, Damon, what's going on? Why are you in my bed?"

Still struggling to process that Elena had been having a sex dream about him – and not, apparently, for the first time – he had to take a minute and gather his wits a bit before he could reply coherently. What was going on? Why was he here?

The answer swam lethargically up through the lust-fogged depths of his brain: because he had a plan to kill Klaus and the first part of that plan required making sure that Elena was safe.

Right. So, there, that's what he was doing. Except he didn't say any of that out loud, so he was sitting there silently and she was staring at him like he'd gone crazy. He scowled. "We can't all have the luxury of dreaming the day away. There's evil afoot, and someone has to thwart it, and in case you haven't noticed, Stefan and his hero hair are currently remiss in their duties, which unfortunately leaves me to pick up the slack."

She glanced over her shoulder at the clock on her night stand then back at him. "It's not even eight yet. Damon …."

"I got you something," he said, digging a legal document out of his jacket and placing it on the bed.

Annoyance morphed into interest. "You did? What is it?"

"The boarding house. I compelled a lawyer to draw up a new deed this morning. I don't know if you realize that Elijah and his sister strolled right in last night uninvited, which means that when you briefly died the night of Klaus's ritual, it must have been enough to break the seal preventing vampires from entering without an invitation. This fixes that. Sign, and you're once again the legal, living owner and no vampires can enter without your permission."

"Oh." She pulled the deed toward her.

He cleared his throat. "I also think it'd be a good idea if you packed a bag and planned to stay at the boarding house for the foreseeable future. At least until our neighbors don't consist of two Originals."

The truth, but not the whole truth. He ruthlessly suppressed any internal qualms. Some things Elena didn't need to know unless and until it became absolutely necessary.

A marked silence greeted his suggestion. Her eyes were dark and clouded with sufficient ambiguity that he couldn't decipher her reaction. Was she shocked? Appalled? Willing to consider it?

"Please say something," he implored.

"You want me to live with you?"

"I want you where you'll be safe."

Her brow creased. "You're really that worried? I don't think Elijah will hurt me."

"Maybe, maybe not," Damon hedged. "Honestly, I'm more worried about the sister. She's a loose, bitchy cannon, which, when combined with your extraordinary knack for getting yourself into grave danger, means I'd rather have you close by. Just in case."

"You're not giving me a choice, are you?" Those dark eyes deepened, became even more unfathomable. "It'll just be you and me?"

"And Jeremy. He's agreed to keep you company."

"Jeremy? How did you get him to agree to that? Did you threaten him?"

"No, I bribed him. Your brother's pleasantly cheap. Look, the point is you already come over pretty much every day anyway. So just pack like you're going on an extended staycation at Casa Salvatore." He decided it was time to shamelessly prevail upon her longing to see his brother again. "You can stay in Stefan's room, and if my brother gets the chance to come home, you'll have front row seats to the show. In the meantime, we can spend all our free time brainstorming ways to get him back."

She mulled things over for a minute, then asked, "You don't think he'll find it creepy I moved into his room?"

Damon gave her a look that made her hastily clarify, "Dating someone is completely different from letting someone live in your room and use your stuff."

"I guarantee he won't mind," Damon assured her, "but if it makes you uncomfortable, pick a different room. We have six."

She pursed her lips and thoroughly inspected him. "Why does it feel like there's something you're not telling me?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched, but otherwise he maintained his poker face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mm-hmm. I know you. You're hiding something." Her eyes held a blend of curiosity and tenacity that made him wary. "I'll figure out what it is," she warned.

"Another reason to come stay. You can snoop around and," his voice dropped to a husky rasp, "get to the bottom of things." He said it like he was suggesting something indecent.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. A rosy blush burned up her chest, up her neck, setting her cheeks aflame. Light and shadow battled in her eyes. "You can't kiss me again." Her voice lacked conviction.

He gazed at her, taking in the way her sleep-mussed hair spilled fragrant and dark down the fragile slope of her shoulders; the way her pulse thrummed beneath soft, golden brown skin; the way her slender fingers fiddled nervously with a loose thread on the corner of her bedspread.

If he could, he'd press her back until her pretty head rested once more on her pillow. He'd shower her with kisses and caresses until the world went away and all that existed was them.

But he couldn't.

"If that's really what you want," he said softly.

Tearing her gaze from his mouth, her lips parted, but no sound emerged.

After a long moment, he looked away and nodded.

Can't kiss her again. Right, cause that was going to be easy. He had a sneaking suspicion that killing Klaus would be a cake-walk compared to resisting another kiss from Elena. Why must he always have this insufferably annoying urge to do the right thing when it came to her? It made things that should be easy hard and complicated.

But if that's what she wanted, if that would get her to agree to stay where he could protect her, then he'd resist. Somehow.

He handed her the pen. "Go ahead and sign – the house needs to be sealed either way. Just, please, also take some time - but not too much - to think about staying. It'll be fun, we'll work on saving Stefan and keeping you safe, I'll do all the cooking … and I'll be good. I promise."

She gave him a dubious look. Yeah, guess she'd heard that one before. Nonetheless, she did as he asked and scrawled her name on the signature line. "I don't need any time. I'll come over today. Is it alright if I invite Caroline and Bonnie? They can help us search the mill records for the white oak."

Relief swept through him when she acquiesced, making it that much easier for him to do what he needed to do to keep her alive. "Of course. It'll be a party."

She pushed the deed back towards him, the paper sliding easily over the top of the bedspread. An electric jolt went through him when her small, slender fingertips made contact with his. He tensed, waiting for her to reject his touch and pull away.

She didn't.

"You'll be there, too, right?" she inquired.

"Wouldn't miss it. I have a few errands left, then I'll definitely be there. Oh, there's also a cinnamon muffin downstairs and an iced vanilla latte in the fridge with your name on it."

Her face brightened. "My favorite. Thank you."

He half-smiled. "You got it."

As he started to stand, and their fingers separated, she clutched his hand desperately. "Not just for that. For everything. For being here. For understanding."

He took both her small, warm hands in a double grip and looked deep into her eyes. "Just remember that when it's time to invite me into your new house."

She smiled sweetly. "Damon Salvatore, you are always welcome in my house."

He let go of her, told her good-bye, and walked outside to his car, feeling infinitely lighter than when he'd entered. Everything was going just the way it should. All he needed now was a weapon that could kill an Original – then he'd hunt Klaus down and kill him like a rabid dog.

He reached into the back pocket of his jeans to make sure the folded up page was still there. It was, snug tight up against his ass, practically burning a hole. Maybe it was stupid to carry it around on him, but the information it contained was so powerful, he didn't want to risk being parted from it.

So he indulged in a brief touch for reassurance, maybe even more of a rub for good luck.

Then, he stuck his hand into a different pocket and pulled out his phone. Scrolling through his Recents, he opened his car door and stood there until he spotted the name he wanted. He pressed send.

It rang five times before Ric's gravelly, sleep-roughened voice came on the line. Why are you calling me this early? Didn't someone explain to you what summer break means?

Damon grinned, his buoyant mood not dampened in the slightest. "School might be out, Ric, but vampire season is in. How would you like to help me steal a sign made of the same white oak that can kill an Original?"


	8. A First-Rate Jackass

Chapter Eight: A First-Rate Jackass

So, Elena was living in his house now - well, technically, her house, a fact she enjoyed reminding him of at every opportunity. And like all things Elena, her stay was both heaven and hell. On the one hand, it was an immense relief to have her so close and to be able to verify, with his own eyes, that she was safe. On the other hand, it was pure agony to constantly be around her and to have to act normal, like he wouldn't die for another kiss from her lips.

Elena didn't come alone. Jeremy also took up residence as promised, and Caroline and Bonnie might as well have moved in too, because they'd shown up to help Elena look for the white oak and had yet to leave.

The girls and Jeremy spent much of their time in the library, scouring through the logging mill records, all while laughing and goofing off. Damon permitted them mostly free run of the wine cellar – only the oldest and most expensive bottles were off-limits - and they took generous advantage of this bounty, lubricating their research and giggles with copious quantities of wine.

When it was time to sleep, they didn't even bother going upstairs to a bed. Rather, they all whipped out sleeping bags and slept beside each other right on the library floor.

Did Damon feel any guilt for letting her and her friends search for something he'd already found? Eh. Not so much. Truthfully, he hardly dwelled on it, mostly because all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her again. The memory of her kiss tortured him at every turn. All he had to do was close his eyes and he was right back there, reliving the forbidden pleasure of her decadent taste, her lavender-and-sunshine scent surrounding him, the way her warm, soft body practically dissolved in his arms.

But he couldn't. Kissing her again would be a mistake – her words, not his. It wouldn't be right – again, her words. He couldn't give in to his craving for more of her, a craving so deep and powerful it rivaled any physical ache. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't drink enough blood or bourbon to make the craving go away, not entirely. The only cure for what ailed him was the one thing he could never have.

Luckily, he didn't have to rely solely on his self-control or lack thereof to stay away from her. She wielded her friends as a shield to keep him at bay, avoiding him in the one-on-one sense. Which he had to concede, even to himself, was probably for the best. Elena Gilbert was a pure invitation to sin, and turning down such a tempting offer was not his strong suit, if history was any guide.

Though it did kind of suck, because in just the short amount of time since they'd lost Stefan, he'd gotten used to her coming over all the time and hanging out, just the two of them. She'd become part of his routine, and he missed her. A lot. More than he would've imagined.

When they did converse, always in the presence of others, she was unfailingly cool and polite, and he found that more disconcerting than if she'd been hostile towards him. She was treating him like a stranger – a stranger whose house she'd just moved into. A stranger she'd admitted she liked kissing. A stranger she had sex dreams about.

Well, since she was going to pretend like there was nothing going on between them, then so be it. He responded in kind, keeping his distance and pretending it didn't bother him.

It did bother him. He had to constantly remind himself that his job right now was to protect her. She wasn't his. She chose his brother, and truthfully, he couldn't even blame her. Stefan in absentia was still a better choice than Damon. He knew that, and yet it did nothing to stop the painful sensation of his heart being slowly ripped in two.

Sigh. At least distance from Elena had the sole perk of allowing him to do all his scheming without her interference. And scheme away he did. His basic plan hadn't changed. He was still determined to kill Klaus, and at that precise moment, he was attempting to enact the trickiest part of that plan – making it off his property before Elena figured out what he was up to.

He followed a circuitous route, along the side of the house, sticking to the trees and staying out of sight should anyone take it upon themselves to peer out a window. Fortunately, he was almost to the place where he'd parked his Camaro and he had yet to run into Elena. Once the side of the garage was in sight, he relaxed. Looked like he was pretty much home free.

He strode around the corner and spied Elena standing beside his car, a hand resting idly on the baby blue hood.

In the first second, his whole body lit up, humming in simple delight at her presence, and he couldn't help but be in awe of her beauty. Long, dark hair, straight as a pin and soft as a cloud. Stunning brown eyes, rose petal pink lips. A light blue tank top with ruffled sleeves and short shorts that revealed an amazingly wonderful amount of toned, tanned legs that went on for days. Surely, she was the most exquisite creature who had ever graced god's green earth.

In second two, he absorbed the slitted state of those stunning brown eyes and the ominous set of that lush, pink mouth, pursed as it was into a tight bud of displeasure, and he began calculating his odds of successfully retracing his steps and disappearing around the corner without being detected.

By second three, it was too late. She spotted him. Transferring that narrowed stare his way, she said without any sort of preamble, "I've been looking for you."

Yes, the four missed calls and three unopened texts from her on his phone attested to that. A nervous smile stretched his lips. "Here I am."

She looked over her shoulder and down through the car window at the heavily packed passenger seat. Then pointedly back at him. Her expression was even darker. One side of his smile slipped.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked far too casually.

He sucked in an apologetic breath, air hissing through his teeth. "Actually, now that you mention it - "

She cut him off impatiently. "Bonnie did a locator spell."

Ooo - kay. He feigned interest. "Did she find what she was looking for?"

"Yes – and no. It's the weirdest thing. She cast the spell to locate a book – the book that will tell us where the white oak is. We found it, and here's where it gets weird. The exact page with that information had already been ripped out. Only that page." If her eyes could double as wooden stakes, he'd be a pile of dust in the garage doorway right now. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

He retreated behind a façade of indifferent stoicism but couldn't quite prevent his mouth from noticeably flattening into a thin line or several slight crinkles from appearing at the corners of his eyes. This was pretty much exactly the conversation he'd been trying to avoid.

Rightly, she interpreted his silence as a sign of guilt. "So, this is what you've been hiding from me." She waited for him to respond, but he persisted in his chosen course of not speaking. "Why? Why would you hide this from me? Why would you let me keep searching like an idiot when you had what we needed the entire time?"

His lips compressed into an even thinner line. The corners of his eyes crinkled even further.

"Why?"

This time, the anguish in her voice was so raw it unwillingly drew an answer from him. "Because I don't want you involved."

Hurt flashed over her features for just a second, then she rocked stubbornly back on her heels and crossed her arms. "I can help you look for a stupid piece of wood."

"Already found it," came his immediate, abrasive reply.

Her jaw dropped, then snapped shut. "You did? You mean you have it?"

"That's what I said."

"Where was it?"

"The Wickery bridge."

Her brow puckered in thought. "But the first Wickery bridge caught on fire and was destroyed."

Even without her own unfortunate connection to the Wickery bridge, she would've known that the original bridge had been struck by lightning and burned down sometime in the early nineteen hundreds, as did every native of Mystic Falls who had been forced to attend local history events every year since birth. Of course, the bridge was hastily rebuilt but with wood from a different tree.

Damon nodded. "It was all very tragic. Every last piece, poof, gone, kindling for the cruel whims of fate… every piece, that is, except the sign."

He watched her mouth the words Wickery bridge sign. Then, her eyes widened excitedly, and he knew she'd made the connection. "You mean, the same sign we've seen a million times hanging in the heritage display at Founder's Hall?"

"Bingo."

She examined him shrewdly. "You stole it," she guessed. When he neither confirmed nor denied, but definitely didn't deny, she heaved a resigned sigh. "Where is it now?"

He tilted his head, a couple of raven tendrils tumbling rakishly down his brow. "Somewhere safe."

Aka Ric's apartment. Removing the sign from Founder's Hall would have been doable on his own, but it was so much more fun with a partner in crime. While his friend made small talk with Mrs Lockwood and distracted her, Damon zipped into the display room, nicked the sign, and zipped out. Over more than one celebratory bottle of bourbon, he and Ric buzz-sawed and whittled the sign down into a pile of twelve sharpened stakes, each crafted with the sole purpose of fatally penetrating an Original vampire's heart.

"Okay, so you have the white oak already. What's next?" Elena asked. "We wait for Elijah to contact us?"

"There is no we, Elena," he corrected her. "And, no, I'm not waiting for Elijah."

Initially, he'd had no problem working with Elijah because why not? He'd rather have the Original as an ally, however untrustworthy, than an outright enemy, and he hadn't much cared what happened with Klaus as long as they got Stefan back and Elijah and Rebekah prevented Klaus from coming after Elena.

But things had changed the moment Bonnie revealed that Magic was pursuing its own deadly agenda against Elena. Now, there was no other option – Klaus had to die a permanent death and soon, as Elena's life was hanging in the balance in the meantime. At any given moment, the magical force present in every atom of the universe could choose to randomly manifest itself and instigate a freak accident that led to her death. The less time it had to get creative, the better Elena's odds of surviving.

And if Elijah and Rebekah wound up pissed that he killed Klaus and potentially lost the rest of their creepy coffin-bound family, they could take it out on him and him alone, and he'd deal. No matter what, Elena would be safe.

And it's not like he was leaving for long. According to his calculations, starting with the car accident on the way home from the Young farm and ending with the exploding bonfire just a few days ago, another attack wasn't due for at least a little while. There should be just enough time to run out, dispatch Klaus, and save the only two people he loved: his brother and his girl.

He hoped.

Plus, he'd made Caroline promise not to leave Elena's side for any reason when he ran into her last night in the cellar.

...........................

At the sound of his footsteps, the blonde girl looked up from the fridge she'd been rooting around in. "You're out of B positive. Someone needs to make a run to the hospital soon."

He nodded once. "I'll take care of it before I leave tomorrow."

Caroline leaned forward, bracing her hands on the side of the fridge. "Leave?"

Damon's eyes flickered. "Ric and I are taking a little road trip."

"Are you sure that's such a good idea right now?"

"I have a lead on Klaus. If there's a chance to end this now, I have to take it. Before it's too late."

She gave him a rare look of sympathy. "Where do you have to go?"

"It's kind of one of those 'the fewer people who know' plans…."

"Right, well, if you need reinforcements …."

He nodded in acknowledgement of her offer. "Just keep an eye on Elena until I get back. Don't let her out of your sight. Make sure she stays here." He didn't need to say out loud that Elena would have the best chance of survival around Caroline with her vampire reflexes and strength and healing blood.

"Of course I will." A small frown tugged the pretty girl's mouth down into a worried arc. "Does Elena know you're leaving?"

"Nope."

"What are we supposed to tell her when she asks where you are?"

"It doesn't matter. Tell her whatever you want."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks." Her tone indicated anything but gratitude at being left to come up with a cover story for him.

He reached down into the fridge and brushed aside a few blood bags. "Hey, look at that, Care Bear. There was one more." He handed her a bag of B positive.

The blonde girl smiled in spite of herself and took it from him.

.......................................

"Okay," Elena said, recapturing his attention, "I guess I kind of understand why you didn't tell me, though it still makes me completely furious. What I don't understand at all is why you wouldn't tell Elijah. Don't you want his help?"

"Wake up, Elena! His help always turns out to be the kind that isn't! You heard what they said – there are more of their evil, back-stabbing siblings locked away somewhere in coffins. Elijah is never going to kill Klaus until he finds them all. Well, I don't give a shit about his thousand year quest for a family reunion. Klaus has to die, plain and simple, just the way I like my vengeance. But, in case you were wondering and I know you were, not how I like my sex. I prefer that to be wild and dirty."

She looked momentarily scandalized but stayed on topic and didn't take the bait. "So, your alternative to working with Elijah is to go after Klaus by yourself."

Damon scowled fiercely. "Ric's coming along for the ride, but, in a nutshell, yes."

"You know where they are?" The hope in her voice was clear as a bell.

"Maybe. That's what I'm going to find out."

"Where?"

He shook his head. She didn't need to know the details. He didn't trust her with the details. There was still time for her to do something stupid.

"How do you know?"

"Anna," he said.

Late last night, Jeremy had approached him with a tip from the ghost girl. There was a place, a compound, in New Orleans where several werewolves had recently ended up dead. The story Anna managed to get from their ghosts was that Klaus was rounding up werewolves all over the country and sending them back in chains to this compound to await an unknown fate. Damon surmised that Klaus was hoarding the werewolves until he could figure out how to successfully turn them.

So, he and Ric were going to pay this compound deep in the bayou a visit and see if they couldn't find some way to turn up some useful information that would lead them directly to Klaus and Stefan.

"Anna?" Elena snapped. "You involved Jeremy, but not me?"

"I didn't involve Jeremy. Just asked him to convey a few messages back and forth to the Other Side. It's not my fault he's finally made himself useful as a human Ouija board."

She looked away, then down, then up. "Damon, you can't just leave."

"Actually, I can."

"Why are you acting like this? Why are you so determined to just race off half-cocked and get yourself killed?"

She kept talking, but he heard very little after observing the way her lips sensually curved around the word 'cocked', because naturally, at that point, his mind wandered to other cocks her lips could sensually curve around - cough, his – and he only tuned back in right as she was saying, "You need someone else to go with you. What if using a white oak stake kills you? Remember the ash daggers? Any vampire that wielded them would die."

"Good point. I'm sure Ric will be more than happy to do the honor." He tried for lightness and failed, his glib tone merely serving to aggravate her further.

"You need me," she insisted. "I can help you."

He frowned. How the hell had this turned into her wanting to go with him? Absolutely not. He needed to squash this now. "If you really mean that, if you really want to help, then you'll stay right here. That," he swept an arm out to indicate the mansion in the distance, "is your safe house, but it only works if you're in it. I promise you, I will kill Klaus and reunite you with your epic love, but I can't do that if I'm distracted with your safety. Have you forgotten that Klaus will kill you the second he so much as suspects your existence? Or that there's an infinitely powerful, invisible force out there trying to kill you Final Destination - style?" He caught himself. "Potentially, that is?"

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a heartrending look. "If it was you, if the person you loved most in the world was in danger and needed you, could you just stay here and do nothing?"

He advanced on her, muscles bunching and coiling with violent grace, a sinuous, savage panther ready to strike. He moved far more fluidly, far more rapidly than any human could have, and the conscious part of her brain had no time to react. But some primeval part of her brain registered that a deadly predator was stalking her down, and that part of her brain propelled her into a retreat until she collided with the side of his car. She gasped and glanced up in alarm, met his scintillating blue gaze. He placed his hands on either side of her on the cloth top of his convertible, pinning her against the car door, bracketing her in a cage composed of male heat and strength.

He growled, "I will always do whatever I have to to keep you safe. Go ahead and test me. See how far I'll go to save you from your own idiocy." He poured all of his anger and frustration at having to constantly save her from herself into his words, so that each was harsher than the last and had the effect of rendering her silent, though only temporarily.

She was trembling, heart fluttering behind her ribcage like a trapped bird, breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath and setting blue ruffles aquiver, and all he could think about was kissing her. It was quite hot and humid outside as summers in Virginia tended to be, and there was the faintest glow of moisture on her sun-kissed skin. If he pressed his lips to that tender column, he'd be able to taste the sweet, salty tang of her flesh. His mouth watered and his knees almost buckled. Hunger must have shown on his face, because she paled even as her tongue darted out to wet pink lips.

"If Stefan were here," she finally said, "he would respect my choice."

His jaw hardened. "Yeah, well, he's not here. I am, and there is no fucking way in hell I'm going to allow you to deliver yourself to Klaus gift-wrapped with a pretty little bow on top! It's not happening."

She drew in a deep breath to argue. Before she could, he interjected, "I want you to explain to me in your own words what happened the last time you came with me to save Stefan."

She gave him an obstinate look but didn't say anything.

"I'm waiting," he crooned softly into the silence.

Fury and helplessness burned in those velvety brown eyes. "It's not fair, Damon."

His bottom lip poked out. "I know. It never is." He ditched the fake pouting and became deadly serious. "You can be mad about it all you want, you can hate me, I don't care, because at least you'll be alive to feel that way. You're not coming, Elena, and that's final."

He could see her weighing in her mind how best to respond. Finally, she nodded stiffly. "Fine."

His eyes narrowed. Her sudden capitulation unsettled him. It wasn't like her to be sensible. "Fine?"

"Fine, I can't go with you. Got it."

"Good." He still didn't trust her, though. Not about this.

"But when you get back ….," she began.

"Everything will be just fine, you'll see," he assured her. "I'll have Stefan home before you can say, 'Jealous boyfriend'."

He caught a glimpse of the smile trying to break across her face before she looked down to hide it from view. "I know, it's just …."

She paused and glanced back up, running the tip of her little pink tongue along her upper lip. His eyes fixated on the movement, and his dick, already in a state of semi-arousal, instantly reacted by swelling to full-mast. Because his attention was glued to her mouth, he didn't notice when her hands rose to his chest. They definitely registered though when they started gently stroking along ridges of muscle.

"There must be something I can do to help." The throaty voice she used was pure, wine-dark seduction.

Even as lust flared hot in his veins, he had the urge to laugh out loud, an urge he wisely restrained. She was attempting to seduce him, and her attempt was as transparent as it was inept. And yet … it was completely working. Hell if he wasn't tempted to give her exactly what she was asking for. He'd tear those itty-bitty shorts off, wrap those divinely long legs around his waist, and have his wicked way with her right here against his car.

"Like what?" he mocked softly.

"I can drive the getaway car," she suggested with a smile, tracing one fingernail along the deep v-neck of his shirt, down one side and up the other, a faint teasing graze of skin. Prickles of heat arrowed down his spine, straight to his groin which began throbbing urgently.

Fighting for control, fighting his arousal, fighting her seductively soft butterfly touches, he smirked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Naughty little minx. If she had any idea the knife's edge he was dancing on, she wouldn't be so quick to risk this little stunt.

He leaned in, elbows bending. Watched her pupils dilate, black swallowing brown. Heard her heart skip, then pound away wildly. Felt the tentative pace of her finger falter for just a brief moment before resuming its path over his pale flesh.

His mouth descended another fraction of an inch. Their breaths blended, and his dick was so extremely hard it was difficult to concentrate on anything except the girl right in front of him smelling of desire and looking so utterly kissable.

He wanted another kiss from her so fucking badly, but not like this. Not when it was merely a trick to soften him up so he'd give in to her suicidal wish to accompany him. Adorable, yet ultimately doomed to fail. Unfortunately for her, he could pretty much write the definitive handbook on sexual manipulation tactics.

Not this time, sweetheart.

He leaned in even more, forcing her breath to catch in her throat and her hands to freeze. She rose to the balls of her feet, positioning her lips only a hair's breadth from his, waiting for a kiss he wasn't supposed to give her. There was no artifice or guile this time, only her body's natural, instinctive response to him.

For what felt like a very long time, they hung there, suspended, frozen in place, lips almost touching. Almost kissing. Almost giving in to the reckless passion that threatened to consume them both. It took every shred of self control he possessed to resist. To retain some vestige of control.

"Please, Damon," she whispered breathlessly.

The way she said his name was so fucking sexy, he almost caved. In fact, he was no longer even sure what she was pleading for – to go on the trip or for a kiss, but it didn't matter, because the answer had to be the same for both. He had to do right by her and protect her.

Goddammit, why did doing the right thing always have to be so fucking difficult?

He whispered firmly, as much for himself as for her, "No."

Immediately, her head reared back. Temper and a dash of humiliation blazed in her eyes as she shoved against one of the arms imprisoning her. Though she didn't possess the strength to budge him if he didn't wish to be budged, he straightened and took a step back, releasing her. She stormed past him, and he pivoted to watch her fume down the drive, that deliciously rounded derriere swaying enticingly with each step.

"Jackass," she hissed under her breath, fully aware he would be able to hear.

His lips quirked up in a slow smile. God, she was magnificent.

Let her be pissed at him for being overbearing and riding roughshod over her free will and making her feel left out as long as she stayed put. As long as it meant she'd be alive to eventually get over it.

Once he returned home with Stefan and Klaus was nothing more than a handful of scattered ash on the wind, she would forgive him. After all, she'd forgiven him before and for much worse.

He waited until she was out of sight before climbing into his car and firing it up.


	9. I'm Mad at You Because I Love You

Chapter Nine: I'm Mad at You Because I Love You

Forty eight hours. That's how long Damon and Ric had been in New Orleans, and what did they have to show for it? A big, fat nothing.

True, they'd located Klaus's compound.

True, they'd even managed to capture one of Klaus's goons and torture him until he sang like a canary.

But what had they learned? They'd learned that Klaus and Stefan had been to New Orleans once, briefly, several weeks ago, and ever since, the compound had been experiencing a steady influx of captured werewolves.

Unfortunately, the goon they tortured wasn't high enough on the totem pole to know when Klaus was planning to return. So, in effect, they'd learned barely anything, and none of it was useful. Damon's hope of quickly restoring the balance of nature with one well-aimed white oak stake was dying a swift death. The entire trip had amounted to little more than a wild goose chase, leaving him no closer to finding Stefan than before.

In other words, it was time to get the hell out of there and return home.

Having concluded one last unsuccessful attempt to garner a lead on his brother's whereabouts, Damon pulled into the parking garage of their hotel. As he was getting out, he looked over at Ric. The vampire hunter gave him a questioning look. "Wanna call it?"

Damon slammed his door. "Yeah."

Ric closed his door more gently. "If you want to keep looking, I'm good for it. I don't mind."

"There's no point. Klaus and Stefan aren't here. Ergo, we don't need to be, either." Not to mention, there's a girl back home who needs me. That might be the only silver lining in all of this – at least Elena was tucked away safely.

They headed for the elevator that went up to their hotel room, while a small SUV pulled into the parking space a few cars down from the Camaro. The front passenger side door opened first, and Caroline stepped out.

Damon forced himself to do a double take just to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Yep, that perky blonde hair and obnoxiously bright pink outfit definitely belonged to none other than Caroline Forbes – who was supposed to be in Mystic Falls protecting Elena like she'd promised. Rage blasted through him, and he whisked across the distance, appearing in front of her.

She started, hand flying to her chest. "Oh! Damon, hey. Wow, that was fast. Okay, so I know we should've called first, but before you get mad, I can explain."

"Too late," he snarled. He was fucking furious.

Bonnie got out of the driver's side, and Jeremy slid out of the backseat followed by a dark head he recognized instantly. His blood turned to ice water in his veins. He could hardly believe what was happening. He moved to go around Caroline, but she quickly blocked him.

"Wait!" she implored.

"Get out of my way." He had less than zero patience for Caroline's damage control efforts.

Elena heard him and looked over. Something akin to guilt appeared on her face.

"Like I said," Caroline said, unfazed at being on the receiving end of Damon's anger, "I can explain."

"Sure," he snapped. "Go ahead. Explain why Elena's here, the last place on earth she should be, instead of safe in Mystic Falls where I left her."

"I swear I tried my best, but when Ty found out from Jeremy that Klaus was holding a bunch of werewolves captive, there was no stopping him from coming to rescue them. And honestly, there wasn't a lot I could say, because they sort of deserve to be rescued. So, hi, here we are, ready to rescue some werewolves." Caroline's voice dropped in volume. "And we couldn't just leave Elena alone at home, so we sort of brought her along, too."

Damon had thought himself prepared for whatever horrifying idiocy emerged from Caroline's mouth, but her words made his heart freeze in his chest. "I told you not to let her out of the house – to keep her safe! This – this is not safe, Caroline!"

"What was I supposed to do, Damon? Tie her up and lock her in your basement?"

"Yes! I mean, no! None of you should be here!"

Elena, who was now standing at his side, spoke up. "Don't yell at Caroline. You're mad at me, not her."

"Oh, I've got plenty of rage to go around, more than enough for all of you." He turned to Elena. She was breathtakingly beautiful, a fairy-tale princess come to life. Too bad he was no fairy-tale prince. "Get back in the car. You're leaving. Now."

Tyler had come up behind Caroline. "We're not leaving until we've freed every one of the werewolves under Klaus's control, and we've made sure this can't happen again."

A mocking sneer appeared on Damon's lips. Glacial blue eyes glittered colder than a blast of arctic wind. "Stay out of this, wolf boy, or I might remember why I should've killed you a long time ago."

"Stop it. No one's killing any one," Elena interjected, placing a hand on his arm and drawing him aside.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed when they were away from the others.

"I know you're angry," she said, keeping a light touch on his arm, "but Klaus is planning to turn a bunch of innocent people into hybrids, and we have to stop it if we can."

"Innocent is debatable."

Faint lines appeared on her forehead and around her mouth, lines of vexation. "They don't deserve the fate Klaus has in store for them."

His jaw flexed. "You said you understood that you couldn't come with me."

"I didn't come with you. I came with my friends."

She probably thought she was cute. He leaned in close enough that the sound of her all-too-human blood rushing through her veins roared in his ears. "First thing tomorrow morning, I'm hauling your ass home where it belongs."

He felt her resentful stare drilling into the back of his head as he walked away. When he reached his car, he leaned back on it, arms crossed, waiting. An icy knot of anger and aggravation settled in his gut with the weight of a stone, making it so that he could barely pay any attention to what the others were saying. He'd let Ric set them straight. Ric could tell them that they'd never succeed at what they had in mind. Something about finding a way to infiltrate the compound and free the werewolves. Whatever. Elena wasn't going to be involved, so he was too pissed to care about the details.

At one point, Ric twisted in his direction. "Feel like weighing in?"

Damon's mouth curled petulantly. "Why bother? It's not like anyone listens to anything I say."

He felt more than saw the disapproving look on Elena's face.

The sting of her censure rubbed him the wrong way. Pushing off the Camaro, he stalked away. He didn't want to hear anymore. Didn't want anything to do with whatever idiotic plan she erroneously imagined she was going to be a part of.

He went to his hotel room and stayed there for a while. But that quickly grew stifling, especially once Ric left to scrounge up dinner for everyone and Damon was left to his own devices. He needed out.

As he retrieved his car keys from where he'd tossed them on a small table, there was a tentative knock on the door to his room. Very tentative. Without his magnified senses, he might not have heard it. He walked over and unlocked the door. It cracked open. He turned and ghosted back to the other side of the room without seeing who it was.

No need to. A whiff of lavender was already teasing its way up his nose.

The door opened further, through which slipped the lithe and lovely form of Elena. She shut the door behind her with a gentle click.

"Hey," she said, trepidation in her voice. She took a few steps towards him, but the fury rolling off him in dark, palpable waves brought her to a halt. Her gaze dropped to his hand and the keys dangling in it. "You're going out?"

He didn't respond. Didn't even look at her. If he opened his mouth, he'd say something he'd regret.

Releasing a gusty breath, she edged closer. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be this mad. I'm just trying to - "

"Save it," he interrupted in a cold, razor-edged voice. "You get tonight, but tomorrow morning I'm taking you home."

"Why do I have to go home?" she protested. "Klaus isn't even here!"

"It's more complicated than that." He searched for the right words to avert this looming disaster. "There are forces at work that you don't understand, Elena."

"No, Damon, you don't understand!" That she was furious was patently obvious from the tone of her voice. "You do not get to dictate what risks I'm willing to take."

A low snarl curled up from deep within his chest. "Why are you so eager to die?"

"It's not that at all!" Even without seeing her, he could picture her beautiful face screwed up in outrage, fists clenched at her side. "I don't want to die!"

"Then, what is it, Elena? And don't say it's because you want to rescue some fucking werewolf randos! You don't trust me to handle things? Is that why you're here? Because you're worried Stefan's selfish brother won't do what's necessary to save him?"

Her mouth opened as though she'd had a retort prepared, but his accusation made her pause. And grow flustered. "Of course I trust you. And yes, I worry, but not about that. I know that you'll be the one who saves Stefan." She huffed. "God, did you ever consider that maybe I'm here because – because I worry about you. I'm so sick of losing people."

Finally, he half-turned, just enough to look at her sideways. "Do you? Worry about me?"

She let out an exasperated noise. "Of course I do! Why do I even need to say it?"

Because I like hearing it. He turned and regarded her with a saturnine expression. "I'm still taking you home."

Ignoring him, she asked, "Do you remember when you kidnapped me and took me to that bar in Georgia?"

"I'd like to point out once again that kidnapping is a tad excessive, but yes, I remember."

"I saved your life. Surely, you haven't forgotten?"

"I haven't."

"So I'm not this weak, useless little girl that you seem to think I am. I know that being here has risks, but I accept that. This is my choice."

She was so earnest and cute, with a stubborn streak a mile wide he couldn't help but admire. He moved slowly toward her. "Trust me, I've never thought you were weak." When he was close enough, he reached up and gently stroked the long hair framing her face. "It's me."

Elena's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Before she could ask, he explained in an almost-whisper, "If I lost you ….."

"You won't."

She said it so confidently he almost believed her. He sighed. He knew he was going to regret asking, yet he was unable to keep from doing so. "What exactly is it that you're so hell-bent on doing?"

"You're about to go somewhere. I can tell you are, so don't lie. I want to go with you."

Astonishment bordered on disbelief at the complete and utter seriousness of her expression. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

Her mouth firmed. "You can't stop me."

Black eyebrows swooped up eloquently.

"I mean," she rushed to amend, "if you say no, I'll just find another way to follow you, and you don't want me out there all alone, do you?"

He scowled. This was all spinning far too quickly out of control. He didn't like denying her anything, but why the fucking hell did this have to be what she wanted?

"Please, Damon?"

Perhaps it was best to bow to the inevitable, since it didn't look like he was ever going to fucking win with this girl. And he'd just have to hope like hell the magic wasn't going to pick tonight to flare back up again.

"I suppose only a fool continues to argue when he's been outwitted," he said.

"So … that's a yes?"

"On one condition."

"What?"

Before she could draw her next breath, he was standing right in front of her, pinning her in place with an unwavering gaze. "You'll do exactly what I tell you to do."

She nodded.

"When I tell you to do it," he continued.

"Fine," she agreed.

"No arguing, no matter what it is." His voice cracked like a whip, sharp and vicious.

She didn't so much as flinch. "Okay, I promise."

He took a step back, heart hammering like he'd just run a marathon – or had marathon sex. Yeah, he wished. "And I wanted it noted somewhere that I am only doing this under extreme protest. And that you are definitely, absolutely, without a doubt, certifiably insane." The faint smile on his lips mitigated the severity of his words.

She nodded very seriously. "Definitely noted." Then, she gazed up at him in her own little cute way, eviscerating him utterly on every level and rendering him incapable of holding onto the sharp edge of his anger.

He made a noise that was half disbelief and half amusement. "And you need to wear something a little more suited for stealth. We're leaving now, so you should probably go change." His gaze drifted down to the lips that haunted his dreams. The memory of their kiss blazed in his mind. As did the memory of their almost-kiss when she'd thought to tease him to get her way. "Unless you're planning on trying to seduce me again. In that case, there's plenty of time."

The first hint of humor entered her eyes, not quite jiving with her frown. "I'll go change."

As she moved towards the door, his inner demons wrestled with one another. Right before her hand made contact with the door handle, one of the demons won – and he didn't know which.

He quietly called her name. She turned back. "Yeah?"

"Wait."

He opened the duffel bag packed with his things and dug through it until he found what he needed. Then, after approaching her, he placed a small white box in her hands. Giving him a curious look, she lifted the lid. A soft gasp parted her lips.

"My necklace." She picked up the locket and ran her thumb over the textured, silver surface. The red gemstone caught the light and sparkled. "I thought I lost it."

"Found it cleaning up Ric's apartment. Katherine must've dropped it."

She stared down at the necklace with an unreadable expression. He frowned. He'd figured she'd be much happier than this to recover the symbol of her and Stefan's pure, undying love. He made a tentative motion towards the clasp of the long silver chain. "Shall I?" he offered.

"Um, maybe later." Angling away from him, she put the locket down and replaced the lid on the jewelry box. "Thank you."

"Meet me at the car in ten?" he asked softly when she seemed rooted in place, lost in thought.

She shook herself. "I'll be right there."

She met him in five outfitted in head-to-toe black, channeling her inner cat burglar – an unbelievably sexy cat burglar. Long hair spilled out from beneath a black skullcap. Her black leggings and black shirt were skin tight and showed off her luscious form to perfection. A belt circled her slim hips with stakes strung along it at various intervals. No vervain locket though. She still hadn't put it on. He wouldn't speculate as to why – he refused to go down that torturous path when it was most likely for no reason at all.

He drove them out to the compound, really just a run-down mansion posing as abandoned. The distant sounds of city revelry – softly blending jazz melodies, shouting tourists, blaring car horns – were all around, but on this particular block, the streetlights were busted out and the foot traffic was non-existent. Even the light of the moon was absent, obscured by the thick gray clouds teaming across the sky, threatening to make the night a stormy one. Distant rumbles of thunder added to this impression.

With Elena along, Damon had to adapt his plan a bit. For instance, he didn't think she'd go much for the capture-and-torture method of gathering intel. So, instead, they would observe – from a safe distance. He scouted around, searching for a likely vantage point, somewhere close enough to see but far away enough not to be seen.

The apartment building directly across the street was a likely spot – dark and clearly abandoned in truth, and considering this was prime real estate in the French Quarter, that was no doubt by design, further evidence of Klaus's psychotic grade paranoia.

Well, then, Damon would have no problem taking advantage of that. He led Elena into the apartment building, through a warren of halls and staircases, up to one of the higher levels. He chose an apartment at random – what was one over the other, really?

There was no electricity to turn on the lights, but the interior was lit up infrequently by blasts of lightning. The apartment itself was long and rectangular. Brick walls and dark wood floorboards. Various discarded knick-knacks and appliances lay about, all cobweb-covered and dust-laden.

On her way in, Elena bumped into a table. A dusty light bulb started rolling towards the edge. Damon flashed over and caught it before it hit the ground.

"Careful," he said with a smirk.

"Right. Sorry." She moved away, rubbing a chill from her arms. "What're we doing here, exactly?"

Putting the bulb down, Damon moved deeper into the apartment. Along the far wall was a door that opened onto a balcony. He looked over at her just as she was silhouetted by a flash of lightning. "This is what we're here for."

He moved to the balcony door, tugging it open with an audible creak. He pointed straight ahead. Before them stretched the façade of the compound.

He ushered her onto the open air balcony and shut the door. He found the best view, where his eye line wasn't blocked by one of the dead, drooping ferns or wrought-iron bars that formed the railing, and sat down on the ground, arranging muscular, jean-clad legs in front of him. Elena lowered herself beside him, rendering him acutely aware of the distracting sensation of her nearness.

Wind stirred the hair about her face. Tucking a few strands behind her ear, she asked, "So we just sit here and wait… ?"

He nodded. "And hope we see or hear something that might be useful to the lunatics you refer to as friends." Yeah, yeah, highly unlikely, he knew, but this was better than sitting around in the hotel room going crazy. He needed to blow off some steam in the worst way.

She looked over at him, an unreadable expression flitting over her features.

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Even though you're planning to leave tomorrow, you're here helping my friends."

He shifted, telling himself he was adjusting to the hard ground and not that Elena's observation irritated him. "Someone has to take care of the children."

"I was trying to say thank you. Is that how you think of me?" Her lips curved fractionally downwards. "I'm a child?"

"Do I think you're a child?" His gaze swept pointedly down and back up her body. "Very much no. What I do think is you haven't a lick of sense, you're too damn stubborn for your own good, and it's clear you should've been spanked more when you were a child."

"My parents never spanked me."

"Well, maybe that's the problem."

"Didn't seem to have any effect on you," she pointed out.

His lips twitched. Sassy little thing. "Touché."

They lapsed into mutual silence. A good while passed with absolutely nothing happening around the compound.

"Stakeouts seem more fun on TV," she eventually complained, drawing him out of dark thoughts.

He withdrew a flask from a jacket pocket and offered it to her.

She wrinkled her nose. "Uh, no thanks."

He shrugged. "Makes the time go by faster."

She shook her head. "I'm good."

Oh, well, more for him. He tipped the flask back and drained a good quarter of its contents. He was just twisting the cap back on when Elena let out an unholy shriek and leapt into his lap.

"Oh my god!"

"What?" He pocketed his flask and put his arms around her, pulling her closer. "What happened?"

"A spider! There's a spider! Damon, help me! Get it off!"

Relief flowed through him. A fucking spider.

"Hey," he laughed, "okay, okay, easy. Be still and let me check."

She pressed her face into the collar of his jacket, subsiding into a state of trembling stillness. He ran his fingers first through her hair - her cap had come off in her wild thrashings - then gently down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, the arches of her ribcage, the slight dip in her low back.

"It's gone now," he whispered into her hair. His hands settled on her hips, a light, reassuring weight. "You're safe."

She raised her head off his shoulder and took a calming breath. Releasing handfuls of his black t-shirt which she'd fisted in her panic, she patted the wrinkled fabric smooth, then seemed to realize that she was basically just sitting there stroking his pecs. Jerking her hands away like he'd turned radioactive, she met his gaze with a sheepish look, pink tinging her cheeks.

"Sorry, I swear I don't usually freak out so much. It was just really big."

He grinned crookedly. "If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone say that …."

She groaned. "You're terrible."

Blue eyes glittered wickedly. "I know."

She giggled. Then she giggled even harder. It was the most beautiful, wholly enchanting sound he'd ever heard. His fingertips dug into her waist as he fought to keep from kissing her, an act that every fiber of his being was demanding he commit without another second's delay. Reluctantly, he pushed the impulse away, consciously forcing his hands to loosen their grip so he wouldn't bruise her.

Intending only to soothe, he smoothed reverent fingers through the long strands of dark hair flowing around her face and spilling down her shoulders. No longer laughing, she froze, a rabbit caught in a hunter's snare. Lifting the silken ends to his lips, he bestowed a gentle kiss, an act of devotion that quickened her pulse and sent the subtle spice of desire wending its way through his senses. The air charged between them as time slowed. They shared a look that was long and heated and heavy with promise.

Suddenly, she blinked, as though she'd only just then realized their compromising position. She quickly slid off him, winding up on the opposite side from which she'd started.

He cocked an eyebrow as he passed over her skull cap. "Switching sides, are we?"

She smiled a little and slipped the cap back on. "Mmhmm. Just in case it comes back."

He hoped the spider did come back, just so she'd hop back in his lap and wiggle around some more, but he knew better than to say so out loud.

A flash of lightning arced down from the heavens and lit up the night sky for a blindingly white-yellow second before a peal of thunder crashed directly overhead. Afterwards, all was dark and mostly silent, including the two of them. As surreptitiously as possible, he snuck a look at her. Her face was a beautiful, wan oval beneath her skull cap, the delicate features smudged with night shadows.

Sensing his inspection, she turned. Blue eyes darted away, but too late. Christ, could he be any more obvious?

Breaking the silence, she asked tentatively, "Are you still mad at me?"

"For being insane and making it impossible to keep you safe?" He considered for a long moment. "Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know." He unscrewed the top of his flask and tipped it up. Sweet, fiery liquor filled his mouth. He swallowed and looked at her sideways. "Are you still mad at me?"

"For lying to me and then just taking off?" She smiled fleetingly. "I should be."

"But you're not." Smugness infused his tone.

"Just don't do it again. No more lies, okay?"

He scowled. "Does this honesty policy apply to everyone?"

"I've never lied to you."

He just looked at her.

She had the grace to blush and look away. "Have you been to New Orleans before?"

Giving her one last long look, he accepted her abrupt shift in topic and replied, "Once. A long time ago."

"Just passing through or …?"

"I was following Stefan. An eternity of misery and all that."

"Oh, of course," she said with a faint smile.

"But it wasn't all doom and gloom," he assured her. "In spite of Stefan, fun was had. Mmm-mmm, this city has a delightfully seedy underbelly, and all the alcohol and beautiful women one could ever want."

Elena rolled her eyes. "Beautiful women, huh?"

He grinned, beyond pleased by the shade of green she was turning. "Can't keep 'em off me." With a wink, he added, "Case in point."

She shook her head ruefully. "There really was a spider."

He shrugged. "Hey, spider, shameless attempt to cop a feel ….. Who am I to judge?" He brought his flask to his lips and took a sip. "You really should come back sometime when you get the chance. Drink and dance the night away. You'd have a good time." And of course, whenever that was, she'd be having a good time with Stefan. Not him.

Her features became noticeably wistful. "Maybe there's time to go dancing before we have to leave? Just once."

"We're not on holiday, Elena," he answered coldly. "You shouldn't even be here. So, no, there's no time for dancing."

She flushed and looked away.

Inwardly cursing himself for his overly harsh tone, he forced his gaze forward, onto the dark, looming shape of the compound - you know, what he was supposed to be doing.

Dazzling lines of light crackled across the night sky, and a moment later, thunder crashed above them in deep, rumbling tones.

"Sounds like there's going to be quite a storm," he said.

"Did you tell Ric that we kissed?"

Caught off guard by her question, he stared resolutely ahead. "No." He didn't really feel like fending off Ric's attempts to kill him should his friend become privy to such knowledge.

"Did you tell anyone?" she pressed.

"No." He slid a sidelong glance her way. "Did you?"

"No." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "Damon … I don't want Stefan to find out. Promise me he won't."

The pain was bright and sharp, like she'd slid a knife blade between his ribs. He didn't know why it hurt so much. Honestly, he should've expected this. Why wouldn't she want to keep her little transgression a secret? Nothing, especially not Stefan's black sheep of a brother, must be allowed to jeopardize her happily ever after.

While he sat there, unable to speak because he was too busy bleeding out from the deep, grievous wound she'd inflicted on him with her words, Elena rushed on, "It's just there's already so much bad blood between you two, and I don't want to be the cause of any more."

"No need to explain." He forced the words out through a tight throat.

"I just don't think he would understand - "

"You have nothing to worry about," he snapped, desperate to stop whatever she was about to say. "No one will ever know you made the terrible mistake of stooping to my level."

She blinked. "That's not what I - "

"Look." He jerked his chin in the direction that they were supposed to be looking.

Thankfully, Elena took the hint and stopped speaking, swinging her gaze out beyond the balcony. A pair of lowlifes had emerged and were walking down the empty street. They conversed in low tones, but not too low for Damon to eavesdrop. Eventually, the men drifted out of sight and beyond even Damon's magnified hearing.

Neither Damon nor Elena made any effort to fill the ensuing silence. Over the next half an hour, three more people exited the compound, all as useless as the first two. When Damon polished off the last of his bourbon, he glared at the empty flask. Well, hell. Now he was dry. Fucking perfect.

In a foul mood, he stood. "C'mon, time to blow this Popsicle stand."

As he helped her up, she asked, "Did you learn anything?"

"Only that cleaning up after a bunch of imprisoned werewolves is a thankless, never ending task. Let's go. We'll try something else."

He reentered the apartment. Elena followed, and as she passed over the balcony threshold, he saw her throw one last yearning glance toward the compound. No doubt she was thinking of Stefan.

"Hey, we'll find him." He reached over and trailed a knuckle across her cheek. "We're just getting started."

His touch seemed to soothe her. "I know." She smiled at him gratefully and caught at his hand as it was falling away. "Damon?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for bringing me. Sometimes it feels like my life is this never ending parade of loss and misery, but when I'm with you, I don't know … I feel less miserable somehow. And safe. It doesn't make any sense, but I feel safest when I'm with you." Her hand tightened around his. "I know you don't want me here, but - "

He made a soft shushing noise and adjusted the fit of their hands so that her palm pressed warm and soft against his and their fingers joined together like puzzle pieces. With a gentle tug, he spun her into him. Her back pressed against his chest, warm and solid.

"What are you doing?" she accused breathlessly, looking up at him with eyes wide and luminous as moons.

He whispered very near her ear, "You wanted to dance, didn't you?"

She swallowed audibly. "I thought you said there wasn't time."

"I lied."

He spun her out again, then drew her back in his arms. They danced together in the interior of the abandoned apartment. Palm pressed firmly against the small of her back, he guided her carefully, with finesse, keeping time to the jazz music only he could hear coming from a bar a few blocks down the street.

When the song ended, another one started, more upbeat. He wasn't inclined to change his pace, and she stayed right with him. They remained in their slow, intimate rhythm, even slowing down until they swayed almost imperceptibly.

Soon, they weren't dancing anymore, just stood pressed together, noses brushing. He was almost painfully attuned to every point of contact with that thoroughly feminine shape, every quiver of muscle, every breath. The scent of her excitement floated on the air, branded itself on his senses and revealed the powerful attraction between them she seemed so determined not to acknowledge.

"We should probably get going." That's what she whispered, yet she made no move to pull away or in any way disengage from him.

"Or," he whispered back, "we could make another mistake. A big one."

Lightning snaked across the sky in a brilliant flash followed by a bone-rattling clap of thunder.

Unwinding her arms from around his neck, she touched his face, stroking down his jaw line. Long lashes raised, and their gazes met. When he didn't see what he feared in her eyes, the tiniest bit of hope, that heartless bitch, sprang to life inside him.

"You promised you'd be good," she murmured.

He laughed, a dark, seductive sound. "This is me being good." Considering what he really wanted to do to her.

The slightest shiver coursed through her. He saw it in her dilated pupils, felt it in the palm he pressed to her low back. Then they were moving as one, coming together, their lips touching, soft and warm as a summer breeze. As much as he wanted to, he didn't rush the moment, but let the kiss remain tender, their mouths, their breaths, what felt like their very souls commingling and floating aloft on the soulful strains of music drifting in from outside.

It was Elena who deepened the kiss, sliding her hands through the dark silkiness of his hair, pulling just a little. Her tongue slipped inside his mouth, touching his tongue with endearing shyness before retreating. He growled softly and plunged his tongue in after hers, caressing and teasing with skillful strokes until she came back out to play. It wasn't long before their tongues were helplessly entwined, a slick, hot, urgent dance that stole his breath and his wits. Lightning, wild and electric like the streaks of light flaring across the storm-torn sky outside, sparked through his veins.

The more their tongues tangled, the more her taste, so piercingly, achingly sweet, infused his very being, and the more impossible it became for him to retain some semblance of control.

Apparently, Elena had a similar issue. Her knees went weak, and they stumbled back, wooden floorboards creaking loudly under their feet. Possessing just enough presence of mind to catch them before they collided with a wall, he braced one hand on the brick surface so she didn't bear the brunt of his weight.

Urges he'd been denying for way too long suddenly flooded through him with unstoppable force, a river bursting free of its dam. He kissed her again and again and again. He couldn't stop. Nothing mattered except this girl – not Stefan, not doing the right thing, not the guilt he would wallow in for the rest of eternity – only this girl and the extraordinary things she made him feel.

The hand he'd braced on the wall dipped down and grasped the back of her thigh, drawing that flexible limb up alongside his waist. He rolled his hips, letting her feel his arousal rampant between her thighs, letting her feel its full length and width and hardness. She moaned his name into his mouth and tugged harder on his hair. His hand slid up and down the underside of those skin tight leggings.

Christ, it wasn't enough! The barrier of cloth between his hand and her naked flesh infuriated him to no end.

Without interrupting their feverish lip lock, he grasped her waist, mindful of the stakes hanging there, and picked her up, swinging around and placing her on the nearest flat surface, a table next to them. Several items thudded and clinked to the ground.

His hands slid under her shirt and up her back. Her skin was smooth and soft as velvet. And hot, like a fire raged just under the surface. His fingers grazed over the clasp of her bra and it sprang apart. Then, he was pushing her shirt up and cupping the sublime weight of her bare breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, soft little sweeps that had her writhing and moaning appreciatively.

He broke their kiss and leaned back, wanting to see the sweet mounds of flesh he'd just had his hands all over. The sight seared a path from his eyeballs to his groin. Her breasts were so round and firm, so beautiful, perfect in every way. Her pretty little nipples were dusky pink and hard as pearls, stretching toward him in clear anticipation of his further attentions.

Lowering his head, he took just the tip of one in his mouth, wringing a shocked gasp from her. A few more light nibbles, and then he sucked deeply on the swollen bead. She arched into his mouth with a cry. The honey-sweet scent of her arousal was so strong he could practically taste it, driving him wild with desire and frustration. He released her flesh with a wet pop. Then licked and kissed his way to the other breast so he could concentrate on that straining center peak. All the while, Elena was murmuring soft, mostly insensible sounds that were definitely of an encouraging nature.

He gave each glistening nipple one last hot, moist kiss, then began teasing his way down the front of her body with lips and teeth and tongue, taking his time, laying a trail of fiery kisses, discovering with leisurely thoroughness every warm, soft inch of caramel skin.

When his lips whispered over the tender flesh just below her navel, she jolted.

So sensitive. Feather-light, he lingered there, savoring the small moans he coaxed from her. Then his kisses ventured lower, down, down, down until the elastic waist band of her pants impeded further progress. Her hands tightened on his skull, fingertips exerting the tiniest bit of pressure into his scalp.

Responding to that gentle, possibly subconscious warning, he propped his chin on her stomach and gazed up at her. Her eyes were dark, opaque pools as she gazed back.

"Damon ….," she whispered in a tremulous voice.

Before she could utter another peep, he surged upward and recaptured her mouth in a smoldering hot kiss, hands tangling in her hair and knocking her cap off her head onto the ground. When he eased back slightly, she didn't look like she had the wherewithal to do much else other than cling to him.

He was okay with that.

Her throat worked silently for a few heartbeats before words emerged. "You have to stop kissing me for just a – a minute. I can't think."

"Thinking's overrated." Brushing his lips against her cheek, he murmured, "I want you so much, Elena."

Understatement of the century, and possibly one of the most selfish things he'd ever said out loud. He didn't have the strength to do what was right – to walk away from her. God knew he should. If he possessed even an ounce of decency, he wouldn't press her so, not when he had no right to.

But who was he kidding? He wasn't decent. Not even a little bit. No, Damon Salvatore was depraved and debauched. A creature of darkness, damned to the core, self-serving through and through.

To be fair though, Elena didn't seem particularly inclined to end things yet either. No, she was too busy teasing her fingers through the raven tendrils carelessly overhanging his brow. Then down over the sharp angles and faint hollows of his face. Her fingers lovingly traced them all, exploratory caresses that only further inflamed him.

"You can't want me," she told him.

Each word was a miniscule wooden splinter embedding itself in his heart. "I don't know how to stop."

"You have to." She grasped his face with both hands and pressed her lips to his, licking her way inside his mouth with a greedy eagerness that contradicted what she'd just said.

When the kiss ended, he asked brokenly, "How?"

"I don't know."

Her answer made him want to fall to his knees and beg her to take mercy on him. Instead, he pleaded like an idiot desperate for even the smallest of crumbs, "It's not just me, though, right? You feel something, too?"

After an eternity, she whispered, "I – I don't know."

"You don't know," he echoed lifelessly.

"No, I - " Suddenly, she stiffened as something behind him captured her attention. "Damon!"

The tremor of fear in her voice sliced through his lust-fogged brain with the keenness of a blade. He glanced over to see a man lurking in the doorway. Tall and lean with a brown driving cap pulled low over his eyes, he radiated menace.

Adrenaline pumped through Damon's system, tensing his muscles. Silently, he berated himself. How could he have let himself get so completely distracted that he neglected to keep an eye out for danger? An unacceptable lapse.

The strange man grinned, thin lips drawing back to expose the sharp white glint of fangs. "Sorry to interrupt, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be here."

Two things happened simultaneously. One, he yanked Elena's shirt down so this fucking creep wouldn't get a free peep show. Two, he snatched a stake off Elena's belt and let it fly with deadly accuracy.

Just before the wooden point should've found its mark, the other vampire reached up and caught the stake in midair. Drawing his arm back, he return fired. The stake drove deep into Damon's left shoulder.

Agony contorted his features. Gripping the end, he wrenched it out. The bloody stake clattered to the floor.

This vampire was older and stronger which meant Damon couldn't take him in a straight, one-on-one fight. A single thought crystallized: Get Elena out of here. He turned to the girl, who'd barely had time to react to what was happening, and growled, "Hang on."

She obeyed instantly, stepping into him and circling her arms tightly around his neck. She pressed her face into the collar of his leather jacket. He sped to the balcony and looked down over the ledge. They were only four stories up. Piece of cake. He vaulted over the railing with Elena clinging to him.

After landing on his feet, cat-like, in the middle of the street, he looked down at her. "You okay?"

Her eyes were wide, her breaths rapid. "Yes."

"No, you're really not."

It was the vampire creep speaking. He stood on the balcony, staring down at them with a gleefully malicious expression. Damon frowned, then looked left and right. People choked both ends of the street. During a fortuitously timed lightning strike, fangs gleamed wetly and blood-red eyes flared. Not people. More vampires.

Definitely wasn't going that way.

He looked back up, saw the first vampire still leering down at them. He glanced back and forth, knew there was no way he'd get past them safely with Elena, especially if they also happened to have an age advantage over him.

Hoping for a miracle, Damon looked down. He spied a manhole cover not even five feet away. Relief coursed through him, along with more adrenaline. Miracle achieved. Now it was time to act.

"When I say jump," he whispered to Elena, "do it."

She nodded.

Shifting into super speed mode, he ripped up the manhole cover and hurled it at the vampire poised to jump down on them. Without waiting to see if it hit its target, he ordered Elena to jump.

She looked at him in disbelief. "What? In there? Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack. Down. Now."

She closed her eyes, stepped into space, and screamed on the way down. He flashed down behind her and scooped her up in his arms. She looked up at him with fearful eyes.

"Hang on," he instructed, "I'll get us out of here."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled into his throat. He didn't wait for any further signs of acceptance from her. He took off down the tunnels so fast they were blur, all the while hoping he'd be able to lose the vampires on their tail without too much time and effort wasted.

They made it to the end of the underground sewers, emerging from the tunnel into what appeared to be a remote area of wilderness. It was dark, and rain had begun to come down in a light drizzle, just enough to make everything annoyingly wet.

He had no idea where they were. Didn't know how far from the city they were or even in which direction it lay. Listening with magnified senses, he detected, in between the soft splish of each falling raindrop, an increasingly louder whoosh of air, like the faint whine of a mosquito buzzing irritatingly about his ear. Or like Klaus's annoying minions still hot on their trail and traveling at super speed.

"Damon?" Elena asked, lifting her head from his shoulder.

He shook his head. "Not yet."

Tightening his arms around her, he fled into the bayou, hoping to lose the vamps chasing them, so he could stop and find his bearings, allowing them to head for more populated areas. Every now and then, he'd freeze and cock his head, listening to see if he and Elena were still being pursued. Every time, the answer was yes.

Finally, he downshifted from super speed and came to a halt. He had to make a stand or he'd just wear himself out running from at least one older vampire who'd eventually out run him. By now, the thunder storm was raging all around them, and the rain fell in drenching sheets.

He set Elena down and braced himself for a fight. He knew she wasn't going to like this. "Elena, I need you to run."

"What?" She looked at him with confusion. "What about you?"

"I'm staying here. I can hold them off, but not if you're in the way. Run as far and fast as you can. You have your phone?" – she nodded - "Call the others. Tell them to come find you."

"Are you crazy? You can't hold them all off by yourself!" She wrapped her hand around the hilt of the stake at her hip. "I'll hide, and you distract them. When they're not looking, I'll - "

"Stop!" He grabbed her wrists forcefully enough to startle her, yanking her hands to his chest. "Listen to me. I am not worth a single fucking hair on your pretty little head, do you understand? You need to go now."

Elena shook her head in denial, that stubborn look on her face that usually boded ill for him. Her fingers curled into the collar of his jacket and pulled him closer. "No! No, I'm not leaving without you."

He felt as though his insides were being scraped raw with a rusty spoon. He didn't want to put her through this, didn't want to be separated from her, but he also couldn't let her die. "You have to do what I tell you. You promised."

"No, please, Damon, please don't make me leave you."

He swept his thumbs softly over her wet cheek bones and stared steadily into those soul-wrenching brown eyes. "Can you please just once in your life do something I ask?"

Her face crumpled, and he knew she was crying, though the rain running down her face effectively concealed her tears.

"I'm coming back for you," she vowed. "I'm going to call Caroline and Ric and Bonnie, and when they find me, we're coming back for you. "

"Okay." He'd agree to anything if it would get her moving, and he was secure in the knowledge that her friends wouldn't let her do any such thing. "Now, please, go." When she didn't move, he let go of her wrists, stepped back, and snarled, "Now, Elena, I'm serious!"

She turned and took two steps. Then, she whirled and raced back to him, smashing her mouth against his in a hard kiss that tasted too much like a farewell, the wet saltiness of her tears mingling with the rain.

"I'm coming back for you," she whispered again.

Lightning flashed above, giving him one last illuminated glimpse of her through the thrashing downpour. He growled roughly, "Go."

This time when she ran off, she didn't look back. He briefly closed his eyes, silently praying, just in case anyone was listening, that he was doing the right thing, that he really could hold them off long enough for Elena to find safety and her friends, that she wasn't fleeing one danger only to fall prey to any of the thousand other disastrous calamities that could strike a human girl alone and lost in the bayou in the middle of a thunder storm.

But there was no other option. Better that he die trying than risk Elena by letting her remain with him – and he fully intended to take as many of them with him as possible.

He reopened his eyes, the light of battle shining eagerly in their blue depths, and waited for the enemy to come.


	10. The Simple Intimacy of the Near Touch

Chapter Ten: The Simple Intimacy of the Near Touch

Three of them. They materialized out of the dark and rain, shoulder to shoulder, menacing even in their highly saturated state.

Damon's gaze flicked between them, studying them intently, anticipation coiling in his gut. Driving Cap who'd flushed him and Elena from the apartment building stood firm in the middle. The vampire to his left looked like a nice young man, and had a neatly trimmed brown beard. The right-most vampire was a tall statuesque woman with gorgeous dark brown skin. Her hair disappeared down her back, braided into a long queue.

That's it? Damon thought.

To be sure, he was outnumbered, but this was hardly the ravening horde of blood-sucking fiends snapping at his heels that his imagination had conjured up during their flight through the sewer tunnels and out into the bayou.

He waited a few beats before quipping, "At least I gave most of you the slip."

Driving Cap smiled unpleasantly. "Still three to one."

Time to better those odds. Without warning, Damon lunged across the space separating him from his enemies, teeth bared, smooth and deadly as a striking panther. He drove his hand into the bearded vampire's chest.

Either Beard Vamp had been younger, or he'd been unprepared for Damon's attack. Either way, he was dead.

Damon's wrist twisted with almost no effort. He yanked his hand free. The body dropped to the ground with a wet thump, leaving behind a still beating heart that pulsed feebly in Damon's grasp.

Damon opened his gore-soaked fist and let the organ fall to the ground. He couldn't resist giving the other two vampires a taunting look as he did so.

"Two to one," he corrected.

"Michel!" the woman screamed, a shrieking blend of pain and fury.

Driving Cap put out an arm to stifle her forward charge. "Let me handle this one."

"I don't think so, Andre. I want him."

Andre, formerly known as Driving Cap, jerked his chin at the darkness beyond them. "There's also a girl."

"Human?" Eagerness lit her face at the prospect of a real hunt, the one thing more enticing to a vampire than revenge.

Andre nodded. "Find her. But, Cherie, don't kill her. Everyone gets a turn first."

The female vampire hissed like a snake and darted away. With a vicious snarl, Damon made an effort to intercept her, but Andre cut him off.

This vampire wouldn't be so easy to kill, but Damon didn't hesitate for one fucking second, plowing into his adversary at full force. The collision knocked them to the ground. They began to wrestle, two immensely powerful immortals vying for the upper hand. Grunts of pain erupted at regular intervals. Handholds were hard to come by, fingers clutching at slippery skin and sodden clothes. The underbrush all around them was soon flattened, and the muddy ground torn up, beneath the violence of their struggle.

At the onset of the fight, Damon's rage and desperation allowed him to hold his own, but it became obvious he was ultimately going to lose when his strength flagged and there was no corresponding decline in his elder opponent's. In fact, it wasn't long before he was getting his ass handed to him.

When he found himself lying on his back being pressed down quite forcefully into the mud, Damon summoned a final, wild burst of energy and threw Andre off of him. He leapt up, though Andre regained his footing just as quickly. Even though Damon didn't technically need to breathe, he was panting.

Andre's fist shot out. Damon barely registered the blur of movement, was just a titch too slow as he tried to twist away. Knuckles clipped his cheek, splitting the skin wide open. Before he was able to recover, his rival was on him, driving him back to the ground.

Looming over him, Andre punched him once, twice, three times. The warm wetness streaming down Damon's face was more than just mud and rain water.

Though dazed, he sensed Andre making a grab for his heart, fingertips pushing through skin, parting muscle, worming their way between rib bones – which, believe it or not, hurt like hell. Damon scrabbled to stave off the threat and caught Andre's wrist. Gritting his teeth, fighting the pain, he brought to bear all that was left of his remaining strength, one last ditch effort to not die.

But he had nothing left. The elder vampire's hand inched closer to Damon's heart.

A sudden dreadful, familiar sensation crawled over his skin, the prickly, hairy feet of invisible spiders. It was stirring. The Magic. It was happening. It was choosing now to strike, when Elena was alone and unprotected.

Oh, god, not now. No, no, no, no, no, no. He was living his worst fucking nightmare. She needed him and he wasn't there!

And then, because the universe wasn't done mocking him yet, Elena's terrified scream laser beamed itself straight into his ear drums, galvanizing him like nothing else could.

No. This wasn't how he and Elena were going to die. He wouldn't allow it.

Strength flaring up in him like a burst of flash fire, he bucked his hips, an unexpected move that unseated the vampire above him and sent him toppling forward. Damon promptly rose up and slammed his forehead into soft cartilage, which sent Andre rearing back up in shock and pain, clutching his nose and opening up the soft, vulnerable underside of his throat.

Faster than a striking cobra, Damon's fangs flashed, sinking deeply. He relished the taste of his enemy's blood. When he snapped his head back with a vicious jerk, his jaws tore through skin and muscle and windpipe. Blood sprayed like a macabre geyser.

Though the wound was hardly fatal to a vampire, Andre's hands abandoned his crunched nose and flew to the savage ruin of his throat, perhaps in a vain attempt to stem the blood spurting liberally forth.

Without waiting a beat, Damon plunged his hand up into Andre's chest and yanked the pulsing organ free. Another shower of hot blood rained down on him.

He didn't even wait for the corpse to turn gray before he shoved it aside and staggered to his feet, rocketing off in the direction from which he'd heard Elena scream.

He searched frantically, covering the area as quickly as he could, heedless of the cuts on his face from whipping tree branches. He kept his senses wide open, straining his night vision for all it was worth, but in the dark and rain, it would be so easy to miss her, and that's what he was most terrified of – that he'd pass right by her and never know she was there.

The second thing he was most terrified of was that the last vampire still combing the bayou would find Elena first.

"Elena?" he called out for the hundredth time. As each second ticked by, the likelihood that he'd find her in time was dwindling. And his desperation was increasing. Where was she? How far could she have gotten in a few minutes? What if she was already –

He couldn't think it.

His muscles bunched, preparing to once more blur through space. A faint sound caught his ear. He froze. "Elena? Elena!"

"Damon!"

Her voice, faint and far off to his left, was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. He trained every ounce of predatory instinct onto that sound and let the starving monster in him find its prey, a goal it achieved with brutal, deadly efficiency.

Within seconds, he discovered her on the ground, sitting in a couple inches of standing water. Her back was to a hollowed out tree, and she was clutching her ankle. Her hair hid her face from view, a wet silk curtain.

Taking in the sight of her like this, he knew at once what had happened. She hadn't run like he'd told her to. Instead, she'd tried to find somewhere to hide nearby. He couldn't even be angry that she'd defied him. He was too overjoyed to find her still alive.

He fell to his knees in front of her. His relief was soul deep and so acute he almost lacked the breath to gasp, "Elena?"

A jagged slash of lightning illuminated the bayou the moment she looked up, was reflected in the dark gleam of her eyes. She let out a startled yelp.

"What?" He glanced down. Saw his hand still stained with blood. In the darkness, it looked black. The rain hadn't washed off all, or even most, of the blood and gore. Who only knew what the rest of him looked like. Not good, he assumed.

"It's not mine," he assured her. At least, most of it wasn't. "C'mon." He scooped her up, ever wary of the third vampire showing up. That was the most immediate, pressing threat. But at least now there was only one vampire to deal with.

"Something bit me," she told him, drawing his attention down to her.

He tightened his hold on her and stood. "I'm going to take care of you, but first we have to find somewhere safe."

He sped off through the rainy night with her securely in his arms, slowing only when he spotted a light, almost painfully bright in the darkness, an enticing will'o'the'wisp. Would this lead them into an even worse situation? Possibly. With his luck, probably. Did they have any other option except to keep running blindly in the darkness hoping they didn't stumble over an alligator or the vampire who was still hunting them? Unfortunately, no.

He adjusted course and made for the beacon of life. There wasn't much to see - just a small hunter's cabin with a tin roof. Yellow light glowed through small, opaque windows.

Not much. But it was enough.

In lieu of any other options, he approached cautiously and knocked. When he didn't hear anything, he knocked more insistently. Through the front door, he heard a male voice grumble, "What the hell?" and then the racking of a shot gun.

"Please," Damon called loudly, "I need help. My girl's been injured."

A man peered through the porthole window at the top of the door, resembling a wary, near-sighted old guard dog. Damon hoped the darkness hid the blood stains.

"Bad night to be out and about," the man observed in a gruff voice.

"I literally could not agree with you more." Damon's eyes dilated, their persuasive powers penetrating through the window. "Do you live here?"

"Yes."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

"Fantastic. Put the gun down, open the door, and invite me in."

There was the deep booming growl of thunder overhead. The man's face disappeared from the window, and the door swung inwards. "Come in."

Damon brushed past the owner of the house and entered a room with two rocking chairs and a couch along one wall. He set Elena on the couch. Drops of water clung to her hair and skin and eyelashes like sparkling jewels.

As he started to turn, she grabbed his jacket sleeve. "Don't hurt him."

He rolled his eyes. "Relax. As long as his existence means that other vampires can't enter here without an express invitation, he's perfectly safe."

He pulled free of her and went over. A vein throbbed in the man's neck. Red briefly tinged the whites of Damon's eyes. Normally, this grizzled old hermit was not his type at all, but he'd lost a lot of blood, and his hunger was more insistent than usual. But he recalled the girl sitting behind him on the couch. He gritted his teeth and shoved the hunger away. His eyes returned to normal and he was able to lean in and compel the man. "Forget you saw us. Find somewhere else to stay. Oh, and if you run into anyone else out there, don't invite them in, okay? Okay. Bye bye."

Once the man left, Damon immediately scouted the rest of the cabin to confirm it was empty. The cabin was divided into three parts: the living room where he'd left Elena, a primitive kitchen area with a giant black potbelly stove, and a small bedroom with an even smaller bathroom attached.

Could be worse. At least the bathroom wasn't an outhouse.

The search took him less than a minute. He returned to Elena, who was not looking good. Her eyes were glassy bright, and there was an unhealthy flush to her cheeks, though the rest of her face was pale with shock.

"Where were you bit?" he asked.

"My ankle." She extended her left leg.

He squatted down and began untying her shoe. "Did you see it?"

"No, I just felt when - aaahh!"

Her cry of pain arose as he was trying to slip off her shoe. Her foot and lower leg were badly swollen.

"I know," he murmured soothingly, "I'm sorry, but we have to get it off."

She clutched his shoulder until her knuckles turned white, but she made no further sounds as he removed the shoe and sock as gently as he could.

The skin exposed was a truly horrifying sight – black and malignant. Three pairs of even darker black holes were visible above and around her ankle bone. They actually looked like tiny vampire bite marks. Except instead of sucking blood out of Elena, some snake had injected into her a potentially fatal dose of venom.

The memory of finding her crouched form in the hollow of a tree played in his mind's eye. Magic could've chosen from a thousand looming perils, but it had chosen this, inducing a snake to attack and bite her as she hid.

When Elena got a glimpse of her foot for the first time, she inhaled sharply. "It was poisonous, wasn't it?"

He didn't respond, just watched the blackness sluggishly spread up her leg like a cancer. Choosing the cleaner of his two hands, the one that hadn't ripped out two vampire hearts tonight, he drew up his jacket sleeve and bit into his wrist. Which he then offered to her.

She stared as his blood streamed out scarlet over pale skin. "Does vampire blood cure snake venom?"

"We're about to find out." It had to. He'd saved her from being flattened by a truck, from drowning in a pool, and from going up in the flames of an exploding bonfire. He'd save her from this, too. "Drink."

Obeying the authority in his voice, she lowered her head, positioning her mouth over the wound on his wrist. He tried his very best not to be aroused by the sensation of her lips brushing against his skin or her tongue flicking out to lap at his blood.

When she was done, she raised her head. He slid to the ground and cradled her foot as carefully as he would a porcelain egg, needing to see the snake bite heal with his own two eyes.

After what felt like an insanely long time but was really only a matter of seconds, the black stain on her skin retreated and the fang holes shrank rapidly and disappeared altogether, drawing her back from the precipice of a painful death.

His shoulders slumped with relief. If that hadn't worked, he didn't know what he would've done. He swiped his thumb over her ankle bone and the now perfectly smooth, golden brown skin, confirming for himself she was cured. Then he looked up at her. "We'll stay here until the storm blows over. Why don't you go take a shower? Being clean and dry is just what the doctor ordered."

She avoided his gaze. "I wish you'd just go ahead and say it."

Mystified, he frowned. "Say what?"

She avoided his gaze even harder. "I told you so."

He hopped up next to her on the couch. "No way. Even I have more tact than that."

"I deserve it."

He reached over and slid his fingers along the soft line of her jaw, tilting her head and forcing her to look at him. "All jokes aside, this is on me, not you, got it?"

Anger furrowed her brow. "How is this not my fault?"

"Because I said so. Because it was my decision to let you come, even thought I knew better. Because it was my job to protect you, and I failed."

Not just failed. Failed epically and spectacularly. He'd been completely out of his mind. What had he been trying to do? Had he really been trying to have sex with Elena in a dirty, abandoned apartment?

Yes, apparently, that's exactly what he'd been trying to do, and as a result, he'd been too distracted to maintain a necessary vigilance. This sweet, beautiful girl had almost paid the ultimate price because he was the worst kind of bastard.

Elena shook her head, dislodging his hand from her face. "Even if what you just said was true, and it's not, I'm pretty sure being willing to make a heroic last stand exonerates you." She looked away, but not before he saw that her eyes were still filled with anger and frustration, all directed inward. "Me, on the other hand. I've been so selfish. I should've just stayed at home."

He leaned over and nudged her with his shoulder. "Easy, Martyr Girl. First of all, I seriously doubt that there's a single selfish bone in your body. Second, you're safe. At the end of the day, that's all that matters." He gave her another nudge. "Go take a shower."

"You first."

"Elena, you're soaking wet."

"You're covered in blood," she countered.

He looked at his hands, dried blood embedded in the cuticles of his nails and creases of his pale skin. "Oh, right."

"You go first." When he hesitated, she said, "I'll stay right here."

He glanced at the windows. "You're on vervain?"

"Yep. My bracelet." She showed him a silver charm bracelet dangling on her wrist.

He took an extremely brief shower, rinsing his hair and skin of dried blood and dirt. He switched with Elena then, and while she was cleaning up, he re-attired himself in the most suitable clothes available, but only after a thorough sniff test and determining that yes, indeed, they were clean. He also stripped the single bed and made it back up with spare sheets he found in a drawer.

When Elena emerged from the bathroom after her shower, she looked like an angel, sweet-smelling and clean, her hair loose and wet, tumbling down her back in waves, a dark contrast to the white robe he'd found for her to wear. Far too big for her, the thick terry cloth still managed to hint at those graceful curves and supple limbs, which even in the abstract made him lose his ever-loving mind.

Elena, however, seemed more amused by what he'd found to wear than anything else. She actually laughed.

He looked down at the red and black checkered flannel shirt and grey sweat pants that were slightly too large from his lean frame. "What's so amusing?"

"That's just not something I ever pictured you in." She looked down at what she was wearing and grimaced. "Though I guess I don't have much room to talk." The robe was way too big for her small frame, gaping to the side and exposing her entire left shoulder.

"Our clothes should be dry by morning. And you look stunning, as always," he remarked off-handedly. Truthfully.

"Liar." She made a self-conscious attempt at pulling the robe up her shoulder. It only stayed up for a second before slipping down again. She smiled ruefully. "But thank you."

"Hungry?"

"Very."

He went into the kitchen to investigate the food situation.

Elena trailed behind, and as she passed the chair over which he'd tossed his jacket, she placed a hand on the leather stiff with dried blood and mud. Gingerly, she fingered the hole where a stake had pierced his shoulder.

"Your jacket's ruined." The anguish in her voice struck him like a physical blow. She sounded on the verge of tears.

"And easily replaced," he was quick to assure her. "Trust me, it's not the first time." He opened an overhead cabinet above the sink and peered in. There were a ton of sealed mason jars full of unlabeled preserves, but he wasn't too keen on offering Elena something of unknown provenance.

"It feels wrong to just go through this guy's stuff," she said behind him.  
Damon scoffed and opened a new cabinet, searching for anything safe for her to eat. "We're already spending the night in his house and wearing his clothes. Who cares if we eat some of his food? Jackpot." He turned to her, triumphantly waving a bottle of clear liquid. "And drink some of his moonshine?"

Elena made a eeww face. "Is there coffee?"

While he checked, she flopped down into a different chair. "My phone isn't getting service out here. Is yours?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Guess we're in the middle of nowhere."

"The vampires following us are dead?"

"Ripped their hearts out myself. Well, two out of three. And I don't see any coffee." He rescanned the scant counter space. "I don't even see a coffee maker."

She sighed. "I hate that you were in danger. I hate that it's my fault, and I hate that we're stuck in this stupid place in the middle of a freaking swamp, and there isn't even any coffee!"

He gave her a gentle look. "We covered this, remember? Not your fault. And things could definitely be worse. I mean, if I had to choose someone to be trapped in the middle of a freaking swamp with, I'd choose you." He winked. "After all, you're not the worst company in the world."

She smiled, which was all he wanted. "Yeah, I guess it could be worse."

He located cups and poured out some moonshine for himself. Then, he held up a soup can he'd scrounge up, promising with its familiar red and white label. "Chicken noodle?"

When she nodded in approval, he turned to that task, imbibing more moonshine and heating up her soup on the old potbelly stove in whose belly a fire already smoldered.

When the soup was hot enough, he poured it into a bowl and placed it in front of her. He then took a seat opposite and continued making a formidable dent in the bottle of home brew. It was absolute rotgut, but fuck, it was fortifying - strong enough to singe a layer of skin off with every swallow. And right now, that was definitely a good thing.

When he offered some to Elena, she declined.

As she ate, he was conscious of her eyes, dark and mysterious, on him.

He raised one eyebrow. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?" she said innocently in between spoonfuls of soup. Too innocently.

"You have that look."

"Look? What look? I have a look?"

"It's the look you get right before you say something you know I'm not going to like."

She blushed and set her spoon down. "I'm trying to think of the best way to ask you something so you won't say no."

He held up a finger. He took a shot. He eyed her warily and gestured for her to continue. "Go ahead. I'm sure I'm gonna love this."

Undaunted, she began, "That place we were at tonight … Klaus's compound." Each word sounded carefully placed, like she was doing her best to tiptoe through a minefield without setting anything off. "There were a lot of vampires there. More than I've ever seen in one place. And in order to save some werewolves, my friends are planning to go in there. Bonnie and Caroline. Jeremy. I don't want them to get hurt."

And just like that, he knew what she was about to ask him.

"I know they'll disagree, but my friends could really use your help." She stared at him with eyes that pulled and sucked at him like some inexorable tide, eroding the ground he was desperately trying to stand firm upon.

"You mean you want me to help your friends get themselves killed." He injected a mild degree of scorn into his tone. "Because you know that's what's going to happen, right?"

"Maybe not if you're with them. I'd feel a lot better about their chances if you were there and had their backs. Please, Damon, I'm asking you to do this for me. As my friend." She tucked hair behind her ear, completely oblivious to the fact she'd just cut him to the quick. "No matter what's happened, we're still friends, right?"

Friends. His mouth tightened. He gave her a long, measured look. "Why aren't you wearing Stefan's necklace?"

She blinked, startled. "Because I – I don't know. I didn't need it." She plucked at her vervain bracelet, then glared fiercely at him. "What does that matter? How is that even relevant? Will you help or not?"

Good. At least he'd struck a nerve. "Who'll be driving you home while I'm busy helping your friends?"

"I'll wait in the hotel room. You won't have to worry about me at all. I'll stay completely out of it, I promise."

"You do realize your credibility is seriously lacking at the moment."

"Please, Damon, there's - " She stopped.

"No one else?" he finished for her bitterly.

Her gaze fell.

With an internal sigh, he thought first of Jeremy, her little brother. Then of Caroline, her yappy best friend. And then Bonnie, her witchy best friend, and Tyler, whom she'd known since birth. Even Ric, her last surviving pseudo-guardian and possibly Damon's only friend. He thought of them all, and then he thought of the toll on Elena if she lost any of them.

His mouth tightened. She always got what she wanted, didn't she? "Okay."

"Thank you." She picked up her spoon, then set it down again. She stretched out her hand. "Can I see your phone?"

"Why?" he asked suspiciously, though he was already handing it over.

She took the slim black phone from him and laid it beside her phone. Then she glanced back and forth repeatedly between the screens, typing in his. After a few moments, she slid his phone back across the table to him.

"What did you do?"

"I put Elijah's number in your phone."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "How do you have Elijah's phone number?"

"He gave it to me."

Damon went completely still. He might've been carved from pure white marble. Only perfectly sculpted lips moved as he snarled, "You met with Elijah?"

"Only through the doorway. I didn't invite him in or tell him where you went or anything. He was not happy that you went after Klaus without him. Buuut, he said he's still willing to help if you'll just call him."

"Never gonna happen."

"You don't think an Original or two would come in handy in a fight?"

"Sure, they probably would. Still. Not. Happening. Are you done?" This last was directed at her soup.

"Yes."

He took her bowl and dumped what remained down the tiny sink. Before he was done rinsing it out, she sidled up to him.

"I'm not calling him," he snapped.

"Okay. That's not what I was going to say."

"Then what is it?"

"What about you?"

He set the bowl down to dry and turned to her. "What about me?"

"You were injured. You need blood."

His lids grew heavy, shading the pale ice of his blue eyes. "Are you offering?"

He intended for his question to unsettle her, but it backfired when she stepped closer and said, "Yes."

Now the one unsettled, he stared at her for a long moment. "And why would you do that?" he said at last.

"Because you need it. You're not at full strength." Her eyes darted briefly to the shoulder that had been staked. "And after what you were willing to do for me for tonight, I think I can spare a little blood."

"There's enough of that - " he motioned toward the moonshine still sitting on the table. " – to last until we get back to the city tomorrow. I'll be fine." Of course, if he hadn't been a bleeding heart in the first place and listened to Elena, he could've just fed off of the guy who lived here, and this wouldn't even be an issue.

"But you'll heal faster if you drink blood," she persisted, "and there's no need to wait."

"No." Yet his nostrils flared like a panther scenting unsuspecting prey.

"Why not? You can't tell me you're not having cravings."

"I'm a vampire. I always have cravings."

She removed the vervain bracelet and set it down on the counter. With a touch of defiance, she extended her arm. "Then take what you need."

He searched her gaze to try and decipher what was going on here. As always, he didn't have a clue.

"Please let me do this for you." Her eyes pleaded with him to accept.

Gently, he circled her wrist with thumb and forefinger, a light manacle, and drew her closer. She came without protest. The fingers of his other hand traced up the inside of her forearm where the skin was soft and fragile as fawn-skin. Goosebumps appeared in their wake.

"Where?" he inquired, looking at her with hooded eyes, gauging her response. "Here?"

She shivered. "Yes."

He smiled. Not even a beat of hesitation. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the center of her palm. He pressed more kisses over delicate wrist bones and an erratic pulse. His lips whispered down the inside of her forearm, nipping the skin, but not breaking it. She sucked in a ragged breath.

Some devilish part of him still desired to unnerve her, so adding a dash of vampire speed to the movement, he tugged her inside the span of his arms. Her back crashed into his chest. .

She tensed like a filly on the cusp of bolting.

Lightly, not wishing to spook her, he swept her hair aside and laid a kiss on the back of her neck. "Here?"

She melted back against him and answered quite breathlessly, "Yes."

He kissed her neck some more, nuzzling her ear every now and then. As he was doing so, his hands slid down her stomach to her thighs, dipping down between them.

"Here?" he whispered, caressing her inner thighs, coaxing them to open for him.

Her breath hitched and she glanced over at him like he was the devil himself - terrifying but oh so tempting, forcing her to face a desire she'd rather hide from.

One corner of his mouth tugged upwards. "Maybe next time."

His hands glided back up to her belly. He nibbled on the tendon between her neck and shoulder. She tilted her head, baring her throat for him. He pressed his lips against a pulse point, felt it escalate invitingly. Teeth sharpened, and the pangs of bloodlust deepened. Suddenly, he felt like he'd die without a taste.

Forcing himself to show some restraint, he raked her throat with the tip of a fang. One drop of blood beaded and oozed down sun-kissed skin, followed by another drop and another, a slow, precise trickle he caught on his tongue, eyes closing in ecstasy at the divine flavor. Three tiny red drops of exquisite rapture.

While he was busy savoring her blood, Elena moaned, rubbing herself back against him, back against the erection thrusting into her delectable backside. Both the man and the monster in him liked that very much.

With careful precision, he pierced her throat. The sweet rush of blood that flooded his mouth was hot and delicious and beyond addicting. It was fire and passion and pure life.

His grip on her intensified, but she never once resisted. Never once struggled. She remained willing in his arms as he nourished himself at her throat, and that only made it all the harder to stop, because a part of him liked her surrender, craved it as much as, if not more than, he craved her blood.

Hunger. Desire. Urgency. These were blending into one all-consuming sensation that was becoming increasingly difficult to deny. Restraint became a tenuous concept at best. He drank faster, gulping down her blood, desperate for more, even as he recognized that he needed to stop.

Calling on every bit of self-control he possessed and then some, he released her throat before he could take too much. After cutting his bottom lip on a razor sharp fang, he pressed a soft kiss over the teeth marks he'd left behind, mingling his blood with hers. Her neck healed, and one would never be able to tell by looking that he'd just been fang-deep inside her. The remaining blood, he licked away.

He took longer than necessary to see the job done, laving that flawless skin, kissing the curve of her neck some more, lips wandering until he found her ear. He sucked a sensitive earlobe between his teeth and nipped.

Her nails pricked into his forearm, through his flannel sleeve. He couldn't help but imagine those little claws raking over his back, drawing blood as he sank inside her to the hilt, filling her completely. As he made slow, sweet love to her, then fucked her into next week.

"Thank you," he murmured.

At the sound of his voice, rough with desire, her face turned towards him like a flower seeking the sun. Her gaze descended almost immediately to his lips. She leaned towards him the slightest bit, but he looked away. If she kissed him right now, he'd taste of blood.

Her hand darted out, and she caught him lightly on the chin with two fingers. She drew his face back to hers.

Slowly, as though she was the one afraid of scaring him off, she leaned in until they were as close as two people could be without actually kissing. Her tongue flicked out and over one of his bloody canines, from tip to base, testing, tasting, licking it clean. If he hadn't already had a hard-on, this would've guaranteed one.

She drew back with the taste of her own blood in her mouth and regarded him with an expression he found completely unfathomable. He waited for her to recoil from him or tell him he was disgusting. She did neither. She leaned in and kissed him again, this time full on the lips.

This kiss, he was happy to report, lasted quite awhile, with no hint of judgement in the softness of her lips or warm sweetness of her breath.

Dear god, this girl made him feel and want things he shouldn't. And she tasted so good. Sweeter than honey. More potent than wine. He'd never get used to it, nor would he ever get enough.

A hand slipped between the folds of her robe to cup her breast, squeezing and fondling the lush flesh. His touch was firm, sure, maybe even a little rough, but Elena only trembled like a captured dove and kissed him more fiercely. Her grip on his arm tightened. He felt her nails again.

The sash holding her robe closed had mostly come undone, causing the white garment to gape enticingly. He stroked down the center of her body with his other hand, trailing past her midriff and naval, pausing only when his fingertips encountered the softest patch of curls right at the apex of her thighs. Her hips lifted wantonly to meet him, and that simple, eager movement aroused him like nothing had before in his long life.

"You drive me fucking nuts, you know that?" His growled question vibrated against her lips.

"Feeling's mutual." He felt the curve of her impish smile.

Though it would probably kill him if she said yes, he asked anyway. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

"What do you want?"

"I-I want you to make me feel something good." She bit his bottom lip, a sharp, quick nip. "Please."

How could he resist her?

He continued massaging her breast, and the fingers resting over her pubic bone drifted lower, finding her sweet spot.

"Here?" he rumbled, drawing slow, languid circles, pressing right whenever pressure was needed.

On a sigh, her head fell back onto his shoulder, surrendering completely to him once more. "Yes, right there."

He trained all of his focus on her gorgeous face, observing every nuance and change in her expression, learning exactly how she liked to be touched, what made her eyes darken with pleasure and her breath catch with anticipation.

Eventually, she grew restless in his arms, bucking against his hand as he teased her wetness again and again with talented fingers, dipping into her, swirling and retreating.

"God, Elena, I love touching you," he crooned. "You feel like heaven."

"More. I want more." Her demand was whisper-soft, the warm puffs of her breath floating past his cheek.

He complied, sliding three fingers into her, stretching and caressing her deeply. Her hips rose and fell in time with his fingers until she was wet enough to coat his hand with her slickness – wet enough that if he bent her over and impaled her right now on his brutally hard length, her body would offer no resistance.

"Damon," she gasped, and it sounded like she was calling out to him, seeking him in her time of need.

"I'm here, baby girl. I'm right here with you."

He gave her just what she needed until she couldn't resist any longer, and then she was shivering in his arms over and over again, a cry of pleasure escaping her. Her inner muscles clenched, rippling around his fingers with sweet abandon.

He kept a tight hold on her, supporting her weight as she went limp in his arms.

Flushed and dazed, she smiled serenely. "Oh, that was … amazing."

Yes, yes, it was. He buried his nose into dark, lustrous hair, inhaling the tantalizing scent that was Elena - lavender and sunshine and desire. How was it possible for anyone to be so beautiful? So irresistible? And more importantly, how was he not supposed to be completely in love with her?

A single, primitive thought pounded its way through his brain and his blood and his bones: Mine.

He wanted to keep her more than anything. To make her his in all ways. He never wanted to let her go. But she was in love with his brother. Could never, would never be his. And he needed to let go of her before he made a horrible mistake – such as dragging her to the ground, pinning her beneath him, and claiming her in a frenzy that left them both utterly sated and unable to walk.

Sensing that her legs had recovered enough to hold her up unaided, he unwound his arms from her midsection and tried to slip away, but she surprised him, spinning and stopping him by hooking her fingers in the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants.

"Where do you think you're going?" she inquired archly.

He swallowed like a nervous schoolboy. "I need to go do … something … somewhere else."

She laughed. "Nice. Very eloquent."

"Well, excuse me if the blood that my brain requires to function properly has been temporarily diverted to another location."

"Mmm, I had noticed that."

He tensed when her hands brushed quite intentionally against the erection currently straining to burst free of its sweat pant confines. "Elena, you don't have to - "

"Hush." She covered his mouth with a finger. "I want to. It's my turn."

His mouth went completely dry. He said, "Really, you don't have to."

Or at least, that's what he meant to say, but by then, her hands were down his pants, and she'd taken him in her grasp, and that effectively concluded any chance of him being able to say anything coherent.

He tried – though, admittedly, not as much as he should have - to step back, but she didn't let go.

After that, he gave up. He wasn't a fucking saint, and if Elena Gilbert was determined to play with his dick …. Well, again, just to reiterate, he wasn't a fucking saint.

When she freed him from his pants, she looked down, then immediately back up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

He managed a weak smile. He didn't know if it was reassuring at all or not, but her lashes flitted back down. She started exploring the throbbing heat with maddeningly soft touches, fingertips sliding up and down the silky skin and over the swollen tip already leaking tiny pearls of fluid. He forced himself to stand motionless, lest he frighten her away. He did not, under any circumstances, want to frighten her away.

She asked uncertainly, "H-how do you …? How should I -?"

He gritted out, "What you're doing right now is so beyond perfect I can't stand it." And he meant it. Somehow he was both hard as steel and complete putty in her hands.

His words emboldened her. With a delightfully saucy expression, she released him, raised her hands, and licked both of her palms, tongue flashing pink. Then, she took him more firmly in her grip and stroked harder, a rousing touch that gave him no escape. She was relentless. Ruthless even.

No longer able to remain still, he began thrusting his hips, matching the rhythm of her hands, consumed by the delicious sensation. At some point, he placed his hands on her sides, fingers curving around her ribs. Pressure gathered and gathered, the sensation of a rapidly approaching orgasm tightening the muscles of his low abdomen.

Engulfed by dark tides of passion, he leaned in close. His warm breath touched her ear. "Fuck, angel, if you don't stop … I'm gonna … come …."

Her response was to stroke him harder, faster, slipping him between the folds of her robe and pressing him directly to her stomach. The moment the underside of his shaft made contact with her bare flesh, nothing remained of him except mindless, shuddering release.

Pressing his face into her neck and letting out a groan that rose from the innermost depths of his being, he exploded, pumping thick ropes of liquid heat out onto her belly.

She made a soft noise of reassurance and slipped an arm free so she could cup the back of his head, pulling him in tighter.

The pulsing waves receded slowly, and for a long moment, he was still, utterly spent, mind and body completely blissed out.

Then, rational thought returned to his lust-stupid brain, accompanied by a rush of emotions too large to be held inside, filling his throat to choking, burning his tongue, impelling him to confess aloud that she was all that was good and beautiful in his world and that what had just happened between them was the most precious, intimate gift anyone had ever given him. That he loved and needed her with all his heart and soul and he always would. That he would do anything for just the chance to worship at her altar, undeserving though he was. That whatever she wanted of him, she could have, no matter the cost to him.

But he didn't say any of that. He kept it to himself, knowing such professions of undying love would not be welcomed. Only once he was fairly certain he wouldn't make a fool of himself by spilling his guts like a moon-eyed ninny did he tentatively raise his head, seeking her gaze. He expected to see shame or guilt there. He saw only tender affection.

"Oops," she whispered playfully, smiling like a benevolent angel, "we made a mess."

Laughter rumbled out of him. He kissed the tip of her adorable little nose. "Your fault, beautiful girl."

She pressed her forehead to his. A strand of damp brown hair clung to her cheek, which he caressed back with feather-softness. Despite everything, she had this aura of purity and grace about her that he wanted to bask in forever.

"Why is this happening?" she asked him.

The anguish and confusion in her voice broke his heart. "I don't know. It just is."

"Everything used to be so simple."

"Don't blame me, I'm easy. You're the one who loves being difficult."

She ran her fingers through his hair. As she played with the silky black strands, she puffed out her cheeks and slowly released a deep breath. "I know that technically Stefan and I aren't together right now, but that doesn't mean …. This doesn't mean …." A shadow passed over her features. She cupped his cheek. "Nothing's changed. I can't give up on him. Do you understand?" Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

He nodded through the ache in his chest. "I do. I get it. Just another terrible mistake."

A sad smile touched her lips, and she shook her head. "Not even close to terrible."

He smiled back, then recalled the wetness that was even now sliding down her belly. "Let me go get you a towel."

"No, it's okay." Before he could object, she pulled away from him. Her eyes darkened as though a veil had been draped over them. "I'll be right back."

With her retreat to the bathroom, his arms instantly felt unbearably empty. When she reemerged several moments later, she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Everything okay?" he inquired, hoping he didn't sound as anxious as he felt.

"Yeah, I'm just tired. I'm gonna go to bed. If that's alright."

"Of course."

"Okay, then. Good night."

"Night." He reached up, thinking to touch her hair, to run his fingers through the shifting shades of rich brown, but she moved away before he could. Her face was distant, impenetrable. His hand dropped down to his side. Message received, loud and clear. Back to reality – the reality where he was never good enough and it would always be Stefan.

There was nothing else to do but leave her to the bedroom, so he made his way to the couch and lay down.

For half an hour, he stared at the ceiling, listening to Elena toss and turn on a squeaky mattress. The bed creaked a final time as she sat up, and there was the swishing sound of sheets being thrown aside. Soon the whispering tread of bare feet was audible.

He waited, motionless, trying to guess at her intentions.

When she was close, her footsteps slowed, then stopped. He turned just his head in her direction. The white robe made her easy to spot in the darkness. "Can't sleep?"

She shook her head, long hair swinging side to side with the movement.

He scooted as far back on the narrow couch as he could, an invitation to join him if she wished.

She accepted, coming closer and lying on her side beside him. He pulled down a blanket folded over the back of the couch and let Elena wrap herself up in it. When she seemed mostly settled, he put an arm comfortably around her midsection, on the outside of the blanket, and nestled her close. She commandeered his bicep for her pillow. A gentle sigh escaped her, and all the tension drained from her body. She fell asleep almost immediately.

Surrounded by her sweet lavender scent and warmth, he figured sleep would prove elusive for him. After all, he still craved her. Even his recent release had done nothing to quell that, not by a long shot.

But the interior of the rustic cabin had become a dry, cozy sanctuary beyond the reach of the chaotic storm raging outside, and listening to Elena's easy breathing and the steady beat of her heart was a surprisingly effective soporific. Thus, it was no great length of time before he too drifted off, his tortured soul soothed and absolved at least until the morning.


	11. A No Good, Very Bad Day

Chapter Eleven: A No Good, Very Bad Day

He woke to soft, golden light gleaming in through opaque windows. The violent storm had blown itself out at some point during the night while he and Elena slept, leaving in its wake a pleasant, though still somewhat shell-shocked, summer morning.

Consciousness returned to him in small doses. He became aware of the warm, sleepy girl in his arms first. Several strands of long, dark hair tickled his nose, but he didn't move, not even to brush them aside. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs, infusing his whole being with the alluring combination of lavender and sunshine that was her unique scent.

The forearm across her stomach tightened, tucking her more securely against him, though not enough to wake her. He didn't want that - not yet. Not when he was content to milk this perfect moment for as long as possible. He might not remember yet why Elena was here next to him, but he was cognizant enough to be pretty sure this was what happiness felt like.

A happiness that came to an end when a flurry of memories bubbled up to the forefront of his mind, bursting one by one, demanding that he relive the events of last night.

Fleeing with Elena into the bayou.

Finding refuge in a hunter's cabin.

Exchanging blood.

Kissing her.

Touching her.

Being touched by her.

This doesn't change anything. I can't give up on him.

That last memory bubble popped with malice, vanquishing the hazy remnants of sleep. He closed his eyes again, listening to the birds and insects as they whirred and twittered beyond the walls of the cabin, wishing that he had the power to freeze time and thus avoid indefinitely everything real and painful.

But he didn't, and a brief while later, she stirred, shifting and adjusting her head on his arm. For the next few heartbeats, she was still, no doubt coming to as slowly as he had. He wondered if she was waking up from a sex dream starring yours truly. He knew for a fact it wouldn't be the first time.

She turned slightly and looked at him over her shoulder with sleep-swollen eyes. She smiled a slow, shy smile that he couldn't help but return.

"Hey." Her voice was raspy.

So sexy. "Hey." His voice was equally sleep-roughened. "You slept well, I hope?"

She nodded once, softly. "You?"

His grin broadened. "Never better."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yep."

"On this uncomfortable, little couch?"

"Mm-hmm." He slid a hand down her side, stroking the feminine curve of hip that neither a blanket nor an ill-fitting robe could muffle.

She laughed. "You are so full of it."

"You love it," he countered, blue eyes flashing. "Admit it."

She arched back against him, a slow rub that was guaranteed to drive him crazy. "I'm not admitting anything that will contribute to your ego."

He laughed, and then without thinking, moved, bringing his mouth dangerously close to hers, a bit reminiscent of a self-destructive moth drawn to its doom-by-flame. But he was helpless to do anything else. His instinct was to kiss her. Simple as that.

Only at the very, very, very last second did he catch himself.

As he hovered just above her, fighting the urge to finish what he'd begun, she traced gentle fingertips down the chiseled slope of his jaw, over the light black stubble growing there.

His eyes flickered with heat at her touch. There was a corresponding flash in hers, sparked by shared erotic memories of last night. Before he had time to recover from the sharp stabs of lust that sent through him, she rolled away and sat up, shedding the blanket. "I'm going to make sure our clothes are dry."

She rose from the couch and went on her merry little way like nothing had just happened, leaving him aching and off-balance in the wake of their abrupt separation. Good thing vampires didn't suffer from whip lash.

Once she was well out of ear shot, he rolled onto his back and heaved out a heartfelt sigh, running a hand through sleep-mussed raven hair, thinking how thoroughly fucked he was when it came to this girl – this girl who was expecting him to do the right thing.

As was his brother, who had not sacrificed everything to save Damon's life so that Damon could repay him by stealing forbidden moments of passion with his girl in his absence.

Before despair and self-loathing could tighten their hold too painfully on Damon's heart, he forced himself upright. He was tempted to go for the bottle of moonshine first but resisted the impulse. Instead, he went outside to scout the perimeter of the cabin. He found no signs of the last, unaccounted for vampire who'd been after them last night.

Maybe she'd given up and returned to the city.

Yeah, probably so she could gather reinforcements and finish hunting them down. He and Elena needed to be gone asap.

When he returned, Elena looked a lot more awake, and she was dressed in her own dry clothes. Likewise, he ditched the flannel for his designer shirt and jeans.

Not lingering for a moment, they set off through the swamp at a much more controlled pace than they'd been able to indulge in last night, eventually finding their way back to civilization.

First stop was his car, second the hotel.

That accomplished, he escorted Elena to her room.

Caroline opened the door. "Oh my god! Where have you guys been?" She paused just long enough to eye Elena up and down. "You look like you've been dragged through hell."

"That's pretty much what it feels like," Elena said ruefully.

Bonnie's head popped up over Caroline's shoulder. "Elena!"

Elena smiled weakly. "Hey, Bonnie."

"What happened?" Caroline glared at Damon. "What did you do?"

"Me?" he said, all wounded innocence.

"He saved my life," Elena quickly interjected. She looped her arm through Caroline's and about-faced her. "I'll tell you everything. Come on."

Ignoring Caroline's protests, Elena pulled the door closed behind them. Just before it closed completely, she looked back at Damon one last time, an angel's smile on her lips. Then she disappeared from sight and the door clicked shut.

For a brief moment, he stood there outside her door, wondering if she'd tell her friends everything. Probably not. If she was ashamed at the thought of anyone knowing they'd kissed, she'd hardly be likely to reveal their passionate interlude from last night. Guess it would just stay their dirty little secret.

He sought out the others. Ric, Tyler, and Jeremy were in the midst of planning their jailbreak and sounded like they needed his help. Initially, they found his change of heart rather … unexpected to say the least, especially Ric, but once Damon informed them that he was participating in this whether they liked it or not, they came around and the plotting truly got underway.

Caroline and Bonnie joined the pow-wow not long after, having satisfied themselves that Elena was alright after having spent so much time in his dubious company.

Once they had arrived at a feasible plan, there was nothing left to do except put it into action. No reason to wait.

Plus, it was the day before the night of the next full moon, so the longer they waited, the greater the odds a prisoner might wolf out and see him not as their rescuer but as their mortal enemy. And he'd been through the whole deadly werewolf bite thing and had less than zero desire to ever repeat it. So, the quicker they got this over with, the better.

First, however, he made a brief detour to Elena's room. Just to make sure she was alright. No other reason. He knocked on her door.

She opened it, looking so fucking beautiful in a plain, clean t-shirt and shorts that the sight of her was like a swift one – two combo to the gut. He couldn't tell if she was displeased or not to find him on the other side.

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Hey."

"Hey."

"We're leaving, but I wanted to check in first. You know, to make sure you're okay after … everything. And to see if you need anything. Also, to make sure you're clear on the rules."

"I'm fine. Caroline has supplied plenty of caffeine and snacks, and Bonnie made me this." She lifted her wrist and shook the dangly bits on her vervain bracelet. "A protection charm." She lowered her arm. "What rules?"

Brushing past her into the room, he whirled to examine the door. In addition to a handle that locked automatically when closed, there was a security latch near the top that could be manually engaged.

He tested it. "This remains locked at all times."

She bristled at his dictatorial tone. "I know."

"Do not open this door for anyone," he went on. "We need a password. Only open the door for people who know the password."

"You're being ridiculous. And paranoid."

"I'm not being paranoid if I'm right. You are basically the human equivalent of catnip for ancient evil. A lightning rod for imminent peril. A walking, talking danger magnet." Which made her one of the strongest people he knew. Anyone else would've broken or given up by now. Or died - permanently.

She glared at him.

"Tell me I'm wrong." He waited a beat. She didn't say anything. "How about 'applesauce penguin'?"

"What?" She crossed her arms with an annoyed frown. "If we're discussing passwords, I take it this means you guys've come up with a plan?"

He moved away from the door. "One could say that."

"You don't think it'll work?"

He shrugged fatalistically. "We'll see, won't we?"

He paced the length of the room, musing that things really weren't as bad as he was putting on. Tyler had called upon the members of the local werewolf packs, most of whom were in deep hiding. Almost all of them knew or knew of someone who'd been kidnapped by Klaus. They'd responded to the opportunity to rescue their kin with enthusiasm, thereby swelling the group's numbers significantly.

He paused by the one small table in the room. On it was a bottle of water, a paper coffee cup, and a grocery bag filled with snacks - chips and candy bars and a banana. Curling his lip, he turned and headed swiftly to the bed.

"What're you doing?" she asked when he glared down at the duvet.

He glared at the duvet harder. "Contemplating tying you to the bed."

Her eyes widened with alarm. "Excuse me?"

He looked up. "I meant so you'd stay put." His eyebrows lifted. "But I take it you had something else in mind?"

She became a charming shade of rose pink. "You have nothing to worry about. I'm not going anywhere."

He took several steps toward her, invading her space, sleek and dangerous as a wild panther, fluid as a shadow. Blue eyes glowed. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

She gazed up at him steadily, but her voice trembled. "Because I've learned my lesson."

He scoffed. "Yeah, right, that'll be the day."

Her chin lifted. "I promise I'll stay here. I guess it's finally time to accept I'm the unluckiest person in the world." Hope manifested itself in those luminous eyes. "Unless you or Bonnie have made any headway in figuring out if there's a who who's really behind all these accidents?"

His expression darkened. He shook his head dismissively. "Not yet." A necessary lie, but one guaranteed to piss her off as soon as she uncovered the deception.

Perhaps she picked up on the tension arising in him, because her hands twitched suddenly in agitation. She clasped them in front of her, holding them still. She peered up at him through long, shining lashes. "You're all bad mood-y. We're okay, right? You and me?"

"Sure." Black brows arched in challenge. "Why wouldn't we be?"

Her lips curved downward the tiniest fraction. "I just wasn't sure if – if you were…."

"Nope." He didn't know what she'd been about to accuse him of. It didn't matter - his answer remained the same. He looked away. "What's not okay is that I agreed to this lunacy, for some godforsaken reason. I really don't like leaving you here alone."

In fact, the thought of leaving her here by herself filled him with a sense of dread he'd been trying to shake all morning and couldn't. Yes, Klaus wasn't in New Orleans currently, and yes, the magic should be dormant for a little while before it struck again. And yet ….

And yet.

Maybe it was just a lingering unease left over from not knowing for certain what had become of the third vampire chasing them last night. Or maybe it was because it felt like the harder he tried to keep her safe, the more determined Elena was to defy him at every possible opportunity.

Either way, he didn't like this at all.

She smiled. "Thank you for doing it anyway."

He scowled irritably.

"If it helps," she persisted, "if you guys succeed, you'll piss off Klaus."

He pressed his lips together but ultimately couldn't repress the reluctant smile that insisted on forming. "That does help."

"But you have to be careful, okay?"

"I hope that's a rhetorical question."

"Damon." The look she gave him was imploring.

He reached out and took her hand in both of his, hoping she would allow the touch. She did. He stroked his thumb over velvety soft skin. "Everything will be fine, I promise. They have no idea we're coming. We'll just slip in, stage a full-scale escape from Klaus-jail, and slip out. With any luck, they'll never even know we were there until it's too late and we're already long gone."

She frowned, whether at his glib tone or whether from contemplating all the things that could go wrong, he couldn't tell. "I wish I was going with you. Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

"A joke, I swear," she hurriedly assured him. "Please don't tie me to the bed."

"Not until you beg me to."

She gave him a scandalized look, jerking her hand from his.

He leaned in, let his breath warm the curve of her neck, filled his lungs with the balm of her sweet, clean fragrance. "And I think we both know that one day you will."

If she was ever ready to admit what she truly wanted.

And when and if that day ever came, he'd tie her to his bed and never let her leave. He'd devote himself to her pleasure so she'd never want to leave.

Her mouth opened, and she looked like she was about to deny his arrogant claim, but she must have discerned something of his thoughts in his heated blue gaze because her throat muscles froze and no sound emerged. As if they'd been drawn by a magnet, her eyes dropped to his mouth, to the seductive shape of full, masculine lips. Very deliberately, he wet those lips, a slow glide of tongue that made her pupils dilate. Her jaw slowly retracted. She swallowed, throat muscles convulsing.

Invisible currents of desire, hot and electric, flowed all around them, seething with intensity. A solitary spark would be all it took to start a raging inferno.

Wholly caught in the tug and pull of one of those dark currents, Elena swayed in his direction. Her blood was racing seductively through her veins, coloring her cheeks. Those rose petal lips parted again just the slightest bit, beckoning him to sample their lushness, to lose himself in her heavenly taste.

Christ. She was asking him for it with her eyes, her mouth, her body. No, begging for it.

As the scent of her arousal wreaked havoc on his senses, his fingers slowly curled inwards, clenching until they formed fists. Denying his need for her was, without a doubt, the hardest thing he'd ever done. It was sheer agony.

Especially now when he could recall the husky quality in her voice as she cried out his name in passion. And her mesmerizing response to his touch.

But he'd do it – or at least try - not because he wanted to, but because it was the right thing to do by her.

He had to try to be good for her.

She wasn't giving up on Stefan any time soon. She'd made that perfectly clear. Her passionate, intimate encounter with Damon last night, every detail of which had been scorched irrevocably upon the fabric of his soul, hadn't changed anything for her.

And why should it? This wasn't a contest. She'd made her choice long ago. She loved Stefan. Period. End of story. The two best people he'd ever known, and they deserved each other. They deserved to be happy. Resisting her was the right thing to do.

He needed to remember that.

Maybe if he told himself a thousand more times, it might start to feel true.

As he grappled fiercely with his self-control, a battle he was inevitably doomed to lose, his fingers clenched even harder, nails drawing blood from his palms. He teetered helplessly on the brink of snarling fuck it and kissing her senseless in spite of all the reasons not to.

Elena actually started to take a step, the step that would close the distance between them, when Caroline's voice resounded through the door, accompanied by a sharp knuckle rap. "Damon, it's time to go!"

The spell between him and Elena broke.

Even though it was for the best, because god knows what he'd been about to do, he still had a powerful urge to strangle Caroline. "I know," he groused.

"Then come on!" Elena's annoying blonde friend called back.

Elena had reversed course by then and stepped back, a small distance, and yet she'd never been further out of his reach. She crossed her arms, though she softened the warding gesture with some advice. "You should really call Elijah."

"I'd rather stab my eyes out."

She sighed, as resigned a sound as he'd ever heard. "Promise you'll be careful."

He stepped toward her until their foreheads were almost touching. He softly caressed her hair, just the sleek and glossy strands spilling forward over one of her shoulders. "I promise that as long as I have you worrying about me, I'll be fine."

Exasperation flared in her dark eyes. "That doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't need to."

They both heard Caroline's impatient huff through the door.

He scowled.

Elena laughed. "You'd better go," she said. "Sounds like you're holding everyone up."

"Don't even so much as think about leaving," he warned. "Keep the door locked. Applesauce penguin."

"I won't, I will, and got it." She stared right into his eyes and smiled, her nose crinkling adorably. "Just think – keep this up and pretty soon you'll be a regular hero."

"I'm not changing my hair," he grumbled, referring to Stefan's hero hairdo.

"Don't change your hair," she agreed. "I'll be right here waiting when you get back."

With that assurance, he left her. He just needed to get this little insane mission over with, and then he could return to her and do whatever was necessary to kill Klaus, bring Stefan home, and ensure Elena was safe and happy.

They drove multiple vehicles and met up with the werewolves half a mile away from Klaus's compound. Damon was pretty positive this wasn't going to be as easy as he'd tried to convince Elena, but when a head count revealed their new total to be twenty-seven, he felt like their odds had greatly improved. That many werewolves might actually give them a fighting chance if it that's what it came down to.

And in his experience, that's always what it came down to.

They descended the nearest sewer hole and traveled through the tunnels, making their way toward a drainage grate that was going to be their ticket into the compound.

As they balanced carefully on the slim concrete walkway above the raw sewage flowing past, Caroline squeezed up beside him.

He slanted an irritated look her way. "What?"

"Elena told me what you did for her."

The topic of Elena slightly mollified him. "And?"

"I wanted to tell you I've come to the conclusion that maybe you're not a completely completely horrible person after all."

He rolled his eyes. "Gee, that's big of you, Caroline. I'm touched."

"Don't get me wrong, I still don't like you, but I do believe you'll protect Elena." She was silent for a moment. Then her forehead creased in concern. "I just hope that includes protecting her from you."

Sculpted features instantly hardened, as though he'd turned to frozen marble. He was not discussing this with Caroline.

"She's confused right now," Caroline plunged on. "She belongs with Stefan, and she knows that, but she's feeling lonely and vulnerable without him, and in the meantime she definitely does not need you screwing with her head, confusing her even more."

He rounded on Caroline, forcing her to halt or else collide with him. "Did she say something?"

"She didn't have to. Everyone can tell there's something weird going on between you two." She crossed her arms. "I just hope that deep down you're the person Elena for some reason thinks you are and that you aren't going to take advantage of her trust in you." She stepped right up to Damon until she was nose to nose with him. "Because if you do, if you do anything to hurt her, I'll drive a stake right through your black heart and not think twice about it."

Damon tensed, face expressionless.

Tyler walked up and laid a hand on the small of Caroline's back. "Is there a problem?"

"Nope, no problem," she replied perkily with a big smile. "Right, Damon?"

Rather than respond, he pivoted and walked away, vibrating with the urge to hit something. But that would solve nothing since what he really wanted was to snatch Caroline's words out of the air and rip them apart and smash them into oblivion. Destroy the truth in them that had gone through his heart like the serrated edge of a knife.

Unfortunately, that was impossible.

Not a moment too soon, they reached the correct spot beneath the bottom level of the compound.

Damon told Ric, "I'll go first, take a look around. Tell the others to wait."

He waited just long enough for his friend to nod assent. Then, he jumped straight up, applying a good bit of his strength to knock the grate out of the way. His fingers successfully curled over the slimy lip of the grate. Excellent, no boundary spell. He was free to enter.

Cautiously, he poked his head through. Didn't see anyone. He hauled himself in, then turned back down to Ric and Caroline and the others, all gazing up at him with round, wide eyed faces.

"It looks like a storage closet. There's no one here," he whispered. "I'll be right back."

He stood and walked up to the door. He gingerly rested his hand on it, stretching his senses out, searching, seeking. He detected the unpleasant smells associated with too many people crammed into close quarters for too long, as well as the sound of multiple hearts beating, a bewildering amount. He wasn't able to pick up on anything that indicated one way or the other whose hearts they were.

He gave the knob a try, alert for anything and everything. The door swung open easily, metal hinges creaking in protest.

He waited for an alarm to sound or voices to cry out.

Nothing happened.

Padding silently over the packed earth floor, he crossed the threshold into a large chamber.

He waited again.

Still nothing.

Something wasn't quite right. He could sense it.

His night vision pierced the flickering shadows cast by a few inadequate candles. The place was gloomy as a crypt. Had a definite dungeon vibe to it.

True to a dungeon were the lack of windows and the dozens of prisoners lining the slick, musty stone walls. They were fettered to the wall with heavy metal chains. Heavy metal cuffs encircled their ankles.

The prisoners barely reacted to his presence. Some of the dirty faces turned dully toward him, chains clinking together, but most didn't even glance his way.

There were no signs of any vampires. Which meant … no guards. That immediately triggered huge red flags in his brain. Perhaps they weren't suspecting a rear infiltration, but to not have a single guard watching over such crucial and rare hostages? Not likely.

He could see doorways branching off from this chamber, and Damon suspected this was but a single room in a sprawling, complex underground level. He fully intended to explore but decided the wisest course would be to update the others first.

He returned to the grate opening. "Found the prisoners. They're unguarded, but that might be because they're shackled to the wall."

This caused several of the wolves, still human, to bare their teeth in anger.

"Everything seems clear, but … this feels like a trap. I'm going to take another look around. Wait here."

Tyler shook his head. "No. We all go in now and get everyone out as fast as possible."

Damon snorted. "Are you really that big of a dumb-ass?"

Tyler just glared in challenge. Damon could read the alpha douche bag writing on the wall. He raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, lead the way, Geronimo."

He moved aside when Tyler jumped up and then aided the others in climbing through the gate. The wolves raced to the sides of their chained brethren. Many of them were openly embracing and weeping at their reunion.

Doing his best to avoid all that, Damon went over to the nearest chained prisoner. He grasped the cool metal ring by which their chain was affixed to the wall and tugged. It didn't budge. He scowled and tugged harder, actually putting some effort into it this time. Not even a creak or a groan or a crack in the stone wall. He pulled with all his might, straining his muscles to their limits. Didn't do a damn thing.

Ric appeared beside him. "Tried picking one of the ankle cuffs with the same result. The chains are probably spelled."

Damon stepped back, shooting the chains a disgruntled look. "Clearly." He looked around for Bonnie and spotted her close by. Sidling up to her, he asked, "Got a spell handy in that witchy brain of yours for lock picking? Presto unlock-o?"

Bonnie made a face at his poor joke, then grew thoughtful. "Maybe I can come up with something."

"Good. Sooner's better than later."

He explored further through the dank basement, curious what else might be down here. And perhaps he harbored the tiniest hope of learning something useful in his quest to locate and kill Klaus. Maybe, just maybe, Stefan had left one of his journals lying around somewhere down here, and amidst all the mopey adjectives, he'd written down their projected summer travel itinerary?

Damon ducked through a doorway that turned out to be a long passageway. A sharp bend blocked the end from sight. He pressed on, conscious that the others were following behind him.

He had promised Elena to protect and look out for everyone, and here he was possibly leading them straight into the gaping jaws of danger.

Literally and metaphorically shrugging off a sense of foreboding, he rounded the bend and stopped abruptly when he found himself face to face with a veritable horde of vampires. The vampires all stared at him, grim-faced, as if they'd been waiting for an inconveniently long time.

Shit. What was the saying about cats and curiosity? And listening to one's gut?

One vampire stood apart from the rest, a good-looking young man dressed simply in black jeans and a solid grey fitted t-shirt. He had a power of presence that dominated the subterranean room, making him the likely leader of this group.

"Finally," the vampire said after a moment of tense silence. "I thought we were going to have to come get you ourselves."

Damon's fangs lengthened. Dark, angry veins pulsed around his eyes.

"No, no, relax. There's no call for alarm. Not yet." The vampire glanced at Bonnie, standing behind Damon and chanting away in low tones. "Save your breath, sweetheart. Witch magic's no good here." He spread his arms wide, a gesture of greeting. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Marcel Gerard. Welcome to my humble abode."

All this was said pleasantly enough, but there was no misinterpreting the threat in the air.

Damon's mind raced with possibilities. It occurred to him that this Marcel might be close enough to Klaus to know the hybrid's whereabouts. "Sorry, doesn't ring a bell. We were under the impression this place belonged to Klaus. You work for him, I presume? That must suck."

"You know Klaus?" Marcel laughed, a deep, rich sound. "You have my sympathies. I don't work for him – we work together, as partners. Klaus Mikaelson might be the name on the deed, but make no mistake, this is my house. My house, my rules. Did you really think you could just waltz in here and steal what doesn't belong to you?"

Damon decided not to quibble over internal politics. "Right, our bad. We thought we were just stealing from Klaus. Speaking of that rascally hybrid, you wouldn't happen to know which way he went or when he might possibly return?"

Marcel's gaze roamed over the people gathered behind Damon, ignoring the question. "I see Crescent and Guerrera wolves. They'll be dealt with accordingly. But you - I don't think we've met."

"We haven't," Damon said flatly.

Marcel's eyes narrowed. He was not amused. "A vampire working with wolves and witches. Who are you, and why would you betray your own kind?"

After a mini internal debate, he decided to go with the truth. "Damon Salvatore, and again, we were only trying to betray Klaus."

"Damon Salvatore." Marcel appeared to be thinking hard. "Huh, that's a strange coincidence. I think I have something of yours that you're probably gonna want back."

Damon smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Unless Klaus conveniently left my brother trussed up and lying around somewhere, I highly doubt it."

Marcel stroked his goatee. "Sorry, don't know anything about a brother." He tapped his forefinger against his bottom lip. "I may know something about a girl, though. Hey, Cheri, where are you, babe?"

"Here I am, Marcel." The third vampire who'd chased them into the bayou appeared at the top of the stairs, starkly back lit, a smug expression on her face. She held something in her hand. Someone's arm. Someone who looked exactly like Elena.

An instant of shock, of horror, so overwhelming and raw he couldn't speak. It was impossible. Elena was safe back in her hotel room. He'd left her there not that long ago. She couldn't be here with these fiends.

His brain was desperate enough to latch onto the idea that maybe it was really Katherine, and the evil bitch was playing a twisted joke on him. He dismissed it immediately when Cheri began descending the stairs and he was able to get a good look at the girl in tow. The fear in the girl's eyes was too real. The futile struggles to free herself too sincere.

Black ice invaded Damon's soul, paralyzing his limbs and numbing his whole body. His lungs refused to expand. How had this happened? How did this freak have Elena? Why wasn't she safe back in her hotel room?

Behind him, Caroline drew in a sharp breath. "Oh my god, Elena!"

Vampires parted before Cheri, granting her a path to Marcel's side. He smiled at her as she approached. Then, he cut a sly gaze back towards Damon. "Look familiar? Cheri says they caught you spying and chased you into the swamp, where you killed some of my men, including her Michel. She waited and followed you back to your hotel – didn't have a clue you were being tailed, either. Very careless. And then you left this sweet little thing all alone." Elena trembled when he trailed a light knuckle over her cheek. "And this." He held out his hand, palm up.

Cheri slid a bag off her shoulder and handed it to Marcel. So consumed was Damon with Elena's plight that that was the first time he even noticed Cheri was carrying a bag. It was a completely generic black duffel bag, except he somehow recognized it instantly as Ric's. Inside, he knew, were weapons and assorted vampire hunting paraphernalia - including all twelve white oak stakes.

Marcel unzipped the bag. "Hunters are not welcome in this city, so I'm sure you can understand why I'm getting rid of this."

He dumped the contents on the ground and let the bag drift down on top. He made a gesture and one of his followers stepped forward to pour gasoline over the pile. Marcel dropped the match that set it all ablaze - including the priceless, irreplaceable white oak stakes, his only hope of killing Klaus and restoring the balance of nature in Elena's favor.

Yes, Damon supposed, in retrospect, bringing all of them along was an incredibly shortsighted and costly mistake.

And right now he couldn't care less. All of his thoughts were full of Elena and the pain and terror stamped on her delicate features.

While the bag and its contents burned, everyone on both sides was still and silent, as though spell bound by the fire. The ice freezing Damon in place melted in the glow of the flames. A fury began simmering inside of him, a dark, deadly powder keg ready to blow sky high at the slightest provocation. His whole body trembled with barely harnessed aggression, with the imperative to act.

Marcel waited until everything that wasn't metal had burned to ash and the fire had put itself out, unable to turn packed earth into fuel, before he said, "Now, what I should do is kill all of you for trespassing. Might seem a little harsh but that's how you keep order, by enforcing the rules. But I realize you're not from around here, and I'm a civilized person, so to prove that, anyone who's not a wolf is free to go with just a stern warning. Yeah, that's right, you heard me. You can leave, so run along and don't come back."

Marcel's people immediately spread out and singled out the men and women who'd come to rescue their family and pack members. Scuffles broke out.

Damon stepped forward, demanding Marcel's attention. "Great. Let the girl go, and you'll never see us again."

Marcel's expression turned thoughtful. Elena stood stiffly beside Cheri at arm's length. He reached out and put an arm around her middle, taking her from Cheri who relinquished her hold willingly. He dragged Elena against him. Elena recoiled as he pressed his face into her hair and inhaled obscenely. White teeth flashed in a razor sharp smile. "I'm keeping the girl. Maybe next time you'll think twice before crossing me or Klaus again."

By this time, any resistance from the wolves had been ruthlessly eliminated. They were herded off to other chambers to be subdued and shackled, Tyler included. More of Marcel's vampires loomed nearby in case those who were left tried to cause any further trouble.

A growl entered Damon's tone. "We're not leaving without her."

Marcel tightened his grip on Elena. She sucked in a painful gasp. "Let me make this really simple. Leave and don't come back, or the girl dies."

Fuck that. The powder keg blew. Can't lose her.

Damon exploded into motion, impossibly fast, yet four of Marcel's thugs were faster. They jumped him before he made it halfway to Elena. He crashed into bare, unyielding earth, where they fell upon him with vicious enthusiasm.

He felt none of it, driven by single-minded intent, fighting back with nail and fang, desperation and adrenaline blunting the pain of each new injury. He had to get to her and would willing endure every second of this agony if that's what it took. Over the cracks and snaps of breaking bones and the thuds of steel-toed boots connecting forcefully with flesh, he dimly heard Elena screaming, "Please don't hurt him!"

"Enough."

Marcel's command rang out. The vampires backed off instantly.

Black boots appeared in Damon's blurry periphery, coming closer. He weakly rolled over onto his stomach and tried to push himself up. Before he could, Marcel planted one of those black boots on his hand. White hot pain electrified every single one of his nerve-endings as the small bones in his hand crunched. He let out an anguished moan and collapsed back to the ground. Blood seeped out past the edges of Marcel's boot.

Marcel knelt down beside him, weight bearing down mercilessly on Damon's hand, Elena still tight in his grasp. Tears streaked down her cheeks, hurting Damon more than any of the physical injuries he'd suffered.

"Hey, man, I get it," Marcel said. "She obviously means something to you, so I'm giving you a pass. I'm not giving you another. Try something like that again, and the girl dies. Try to rescue her - the girl dies. Try anything at all at any point in the future - the girl dies. Can't make it any simpler than that." He stood and removed his boot from the pulp he'd made of Damon's hand. "Welcome to New Orleans, by the way. Follow the rules, and you'll have a nice time. My personal guarantee."

Marcel turned his back on Damon and dragged Elena behind him up the stairs. The sight of her anguished, tear-stained face looking at him as she was hauled away almost annihilated him. Damon scrambled up on unsteady legs, out of his mind, half-blinded by pain and anguish, grunting with effort, but still prepared to drag his thoroughly kicked ass up those stairs after Elena.

"Stop!" Bonnie swiftly imposed herself in his path. She looked genuinely frightened for him, a grievous testament to how badly he'd been beaten. "Whatever you're about to do will only end in death. That won't help Elena."

His face contorted with a rage so thick he tasted its acidity on the back of his tongue. He burned with a desperate need to fight, to save Elena, to do something. The thought of waiting, of leaving Elena here to the mercy of their enemies, was untenable.

But the wisdom of Bonnie's words was undeniable. They needed to regroup.

Goddamn the witch.

To prevent a blood bath, he turned around. He cradled his crushed hand, spasming as it healed, to his chest and followed the others back through the grate into the sewers. His mind whirled with revenge plots, but none of them had a prayer of succeeding. Despair loomed bleak and pitiless over him.

Until it occurred to him what he had to do.

A cold certainty replaced the despair, wormed its way through him and settled deep in his bones. Every motherfucking vampire in that place was going to die for hurting what mattered most to him. He was going to make it happen. And it would be violent and painful. All of New Orleans would hear their screams.

He was the last one up the ladder. He placed the manhole cover back in place. When he looked up, he saw the others standing in the middle of the street. Caroline was beyond distraught, pacing and talking rapidly. Jeremy, Bonnie, and Ric hovered around her like nervous satellites.

When Caroline noticed Damon coming towards them, her eyes flashed, and she hurried over, meeting him halfway. "This is a disaster! What are we going to do? They have Elena and Tyler! They could be doing anything to them!"

"I know," Damon growled, his brain already filling in all the horrible possibilities. "I will fix this."

"How?" Caroline inquired with disbelief.

He ignored her and looked at Ric. "Get everyone out of here. Find a new hotel."

He spun on his heel and strode off. In the process of retrieving his phone from a back pocket, someone snagged his elbow.

"Hey!"

Damon looked back with an expression that caused Ric to immediately snatch his hand away.

Still, his friend demanded, "Where're you going?"

In his most glacial voice, Damon said, "To make a call."

He jerked back around and continued walking. Scrolling through his contact list, he arrived at the newest entry, put in just last night. With the thumb that had not been pulverized under Marcel's boot, he tapped the green call button. He put the phone to his ear and waited impatiently for Elijah to answer.


End file.
